The Road Not Taken - Discontinued
by ZombifyMe
Summary: Angela Warren has kept her people alive since the beginning of the end of the world, and she'll do anything to keep it that way, no matter what it takes. Rated for language and possible adult themes. DarylxOC.
1. Chapter 1

_Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,_

_And sorry I could not travel both_

_And be one traveler, long I stood_

_And looked down one as far as I could_

_To where it bent in the undergrowth;_

_Then took the other, as just as fair,_

_And having perhaps the better claim,_

_Because it was grassy and wanted wear;_

_Though as for that the passing there_

_Had worn them really about the same,_

_And both that morning equally lay_

_In leaves no step had trodden black._

_Oh, I kept the first for another day!_

_Yet knowing how way leads on to way,_

_I doubted if I should ever come back._

_I shall be telling this with a sigh_

_Somewhere ages and ages hence:_

_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-_

_I took the one less traveled by,_

_And that has made all the difference._

-"The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

**Angela**

"How's it lookin' out there, Mikey?" She didn't look up as she shoved supplies into her knapsack. Michael, her younger brother, was standing guard at the window, out of sight from anyone passing by but able to clearly see if they had company. He looked left and right up the dirt road upon which the old general store sat. It was empty of biters and of people. The store had mostly remained untouched by looters; this area of Georgia was heavily wooded, leaving hardly any room for human population. A few cabins had been built around the area, but so far, that was as far as inhabitants went.

"Looks okay. You almost finished there?" His grip on his bat tightened as a biter came into view. Before he did anything about it, though, he waited just in case more were behind it. "Got one biter at the front exit. So far it's alone."

"Hold up a sec. I'm almost finished." Angela picked up the remaining boxes of cold and sinus medication, as well as a bottle of anti-itch ointment. The kids were always getting mosquito and chigger bites, and they were running out of Benadryl spray. She closed up the knapsack and threw it over her shoulder. "All right, let's get the hell out of here."

The biter was making its way toward their horses, which were pawing and stomping the ground anxiously at the threat of a predator. Michael and Angela hastily left the building and mounted their horses, spinning them towards home. As he galloped past it, Michael swung his bat and knocked the biter on its ass. Laughing triumphantly, Michael bent over his horse's neck, spurring it faster to catch up with his sister. They raced up the road and veered off to the left, onto a dirt path. As they continued their pace, Angela kept her eyes open for any stray biters that might have broken off from a larger group. So far, all she could see was the blending of the red, yellow, and orange leaves as autumn fell upon Georgia. The weather had cooled considerably since the summer, dropping from a scorching ninety-eight degrees to mid-seventies, and the leaves had begun to turn. Birds had begun to migrate further south and most of the mammals, like skunks and squirrels, had started their food stores for the winter. Black bears had also become slightly more active as they foraged for enough food to get them through the winter, and therefore Angela and whoever she brought along on missions had to keep their guards up. Thus far, they'd had no run-ins with bears, and Angela hoped to keep it that way.

Angela and Michael slowed their horses to a trot as they reached a narrower part of the path and Michael reined his horse behind his sister's, drawing closer to the compound they'd set up. Then the sunlight became brighter and the horses emerged into an open field. Fifty yards ahead of them sat the compound. It had once acted as a military base, with a solid concrete wall all around it, but once the government and the military met their untimely ends, it served as a reliable safe haven for its new inhabitants. Inside the base, cabins had been built to house the numerous families that had either stumbled across the base or who had been brought back by Angela when she went out on missions. In all there were close to one hundred people inside the base, and it was a fight to keep them all fed and cared for, but with the help of her brother and some of the other adults they'd made it work.

The large sliding chain-link fenced was pulled open—it had once been activated by the push of a button, but it was lost when electricity became extinct—and the two riders trotted inside. As they dismounted, two attendants took their reins and led the horses away. Children and adults alike crowded around them, asking about their findings, how the trip went, if they'd had any trouble. Angela handed her knapsack over to the main caretaker of food and medicine. Fred Dubont was the closest they were going to come to a doctor. Before the world ended he was simply a pediatrician, but he'd proven valuable in this new world when such things as surgery were obsolete. Fred left the circle to sort out and take inventory of the contents, and then later he would get back to Angela with the final count. Meanwhile, Angela sought to get dinner prepared and a fire started.

A large circular fire pit was situated in the center of the base with rocks surrounding it to keep the fire from spreading. With endless forest on all sides of the compound, firewood came easy and was chopped and stacked against the westernmost wall. Many of the survivors that had been welcomed into the haven had brought all of their food stores with them and were willing to share with everyone else. Tonight, Angela and the rest of the adults prepared a meal of meatloaf—which many of the children protested at first—canned peas and corn, and baked potatoes. Along with a pediatrician, more than a few farmers had stepped up to help plant the field just outside the gates, and soon the compound had fresh vegetables almost every harvest.

"How was the trip today, Angie?" one of the older kids, a thirteen-year-old boy named Morgan, asked. He piled a generous portion of potato on his fork and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing loudly. Angela sent him a small, chastising look, but there was a smile in her eyes.

"It went well. One biter showed up but Michael took it out pretty easily. You should've seen him. Dropped his reins and hit it like he was at batting practice." Morgan laughed and a few of the adults sent disapproving glances in Angela's direction for giving such a mental image at dinner.

Out of all of the survivors, Angela ate the least, and so she was finished only a few minutes into the meal. Not everyone in the compound joined in on the meals; some families chose to bring their food back into their cabins and eat as a family. Usually only about thirty showed up at dinner. Tonight was no exception. Michael was seated on her left and one of her former kindergarten students, Amanda, sat on her right. The five-year-old was almost always the last to finish, but Michael stayed at the table with her when everyone else gathered by the fire. Angela glanced further down the table. About eight of the children in the base were her former students before the world ended; their families hadn't made it, but a few of the families here had been accommodating and welcomed them into their homes. They'd been lucky enough to get along with the other children, but Angela knew that deep down, they sorely missed their families and would have preferred to have them here. There were Jacob and Johnny, two brothers whose mother had been bitten and turned. Angela had been forced to put her down herself when the woman broke into the school. Jacob hadn't spoken much after that, and Johnny typically had to tell others what Jacob was thinking or wanted to say.

Seated across from Jacob and Johnny was Sam and Alice. Sam was a small, African-American boy who had been bullied on a daily basis for his size. Alice had always stepped up to his defense, telling off even the largest boy on the playground, Daniel. Unfortunately, Daniel hadn't been able to be saved after his older sister bit him on the arm. Unable to shoot a child, Angela had brought him along with them, and when he died of the fever, she took him far into the woods to put him down for good. Before she returned to the minivan of children, she spent a few minutes alone to cry. She'd leaned her head against the rough bark of a tree and let the tears fall. When the end of the world began, she hadn't had time to think of what she was doing—her motto now was "act now, think later"—and she hadn't even been able to let a single tear slip. Not only was she constantly fighting to stay alive, she also knew she couldn't break down in front of the kids. She was their only hope; out on their own, they surely wouldn't make it. She had to be strong for them, and she was determined to do so.

There were the twins, Maggie and Monica, who no one except Angela could really tell apart; then was Eddie, a six-year-old Latino boy. His parents had left town before he could get home, leaving him abandoned at the school. Kendra was a special case; seven years old and she had been diagnosed as deaf at a young age. Fortunately, one of the adults in the compound had taken sign language in college and had taught Angela and Michael how to sign. They were a bit rocky, but Kendra had been able to pick up on what they were saying pretty easily.

Once the dinner plates had been stacked and placed in wash bins, Angela left Michael to tend to the children. After dinner, Angela sought comfort in grooming her horse. It helped to relieve the stress of living in this new world. She stepped into the building that had been converted to a stable and her horse, a large grey animal, stuck his head out over the door. Angela cooed softly to him. She'd named him Hercules for how muscular he was. When she was younger, she'd only ridden at pony rides or trail rides her parents surprised her with. She'd never taken lessons, but after the horses were discovered on an abandoned farm not too far from the compound, she decided to learn.

She reached up to stroke Hercules's forehead and the horse lowered his nose into her palm, sniffing for treats. He let out a loud sneeze, spraying Angela. She chuckled and wiped off her hands on her jeans before moving to the door. She attached his lead rope to his halter and led him out into the aisle. Hercules's had already been trained in ground-tying* so she let the rope drop. The building had one room that acted as the tack room. The farm where they'd taken Hercules and his three companions from had also been abundant in riding and grooming equipment, as well as food for the animals. The small room barely held three bales of hay as well as handmade racks for the two saddles and bridles. A small bucket of brushes sat on top of one of the bales. Angela picked it up, as well as a handful of hay to keep Hercules occupied. He was waiting patiently in the aisle and his perked up when she returned. She gave him a pat on the neck as she set the bucket down and pulled out the hoof pick. Hercules obediently lifted all four feet when she asked, and soon she was using the curry-comb on his coat.

When she brushed Hercules, she took her time, letting her mind wander away from what she was doing. What would she be doing now if the world hadn't ended? Would she still be teaching preschool? Would she have a boyfriend? Would she be married? The world had ended how long ago? Two months? Was that all it had been? It felt like ages that she and the children were out in the wilderness, surviving off roots and berries. What were her friends doing? Were they dead? Were they _un_dead? Were they trying to survive, just as Angela was? Endless questions and possibilities swam through her head as she finished grooming Hercules's left side. Dropping the final brush in the bucket, she returned it to the tack room. After returning the horse to his stall, Angela heaved a hay bale into the aisle and gave each horse two flakes* of hay for the night. She swept up the small mess she'd made between picking Hercules's feet and the hay and then she left, closing the door behind her.

As she strode across the compound to her cabin, Fred ran up to her, a clipboard in his hand. She smiled at the man, and he returned it. He slid his glasses further up his nose as he reported the inventory.

Angela hummed in thought. "I think we need to ration the cold and sinus meds. Who knows how long it'll be before we can find a place with more? As for food, we're definitely going to need to pick up on some hunting skills. These kids can't go on just spam and whatever meatloaf we have left. So if anyone comes to you asking for cold and sinus, let them know that we need to ration them even further. Give them some of that rub you brought with you until we can find another convenience store. I had to clean the last one out completely."

Fred nodded, and then a somber look fell over his face. "What do you want to do about Gertie? She doesn't seem to be improving." Gertie, or Gertrude, was an older woman who'd come down with pneumonia after she'd caught a cold. Her condition hadn't improved since, and Fred and Angela were running out of ideas.

"She's not responding to the medication?" Fred shook his head sadly, emitting a sigh from Angela. "Then I'm not sure there's anything we can do. We'll just have to wait and pray she pulls through." Fred ducked his head and sighed. Angela set a hand on his shoulder and offered a small smile. He gave her a nod and turned to head back to his cabin. Angela watched his retreating back for a moment before giving a terse shake of her head.

The cabin she shared with Michael looked bigger on the outside. On the inside, there was hardly enough room for two single beds, and they'd had to share a nightstand. Michael was already lying in bed, reading a book he'd packed from home. He looked up as Angela walked in and immediately noticing the frown on her face.

"What's wrong?" he asked, politely looking away as she changed into sleepwear.

"Fred says Gert hasn't gotten any better. She's not responding to the medication we have, and he doesn't think she's going to make it." She tied her hair back and crawled into bed. Michael dog-eared his book and set it on his half of the nightstand, and then propped his head up so he could look at her.

"Well, you have to remember that we don't have the resources anymore to treat things like pneumonia. Just gotta let it run its course, for good or for bad, you know?" Angela nodded as she settled into the blankets. Michael reached over and doused the lights.

"I know, but it doesn't make this job any easier."

"Who said it would be?" A corner of Angela's mouth lifted up slightly at Michael's jesting tone, but she heard the underlying truth to it. No one said taking care of a hundred people would be simple, but if she didn't, who would? Aside from Fred, the compound was filled with former lawyers and big-business execs. Neither knew how to care for people, to make sure they were kept safe and fed. Angela stared up at the dark ceiling for a while, her mind too busy to let her catch any sleep just yet. She wasn't sure how she found herself in such a position to care for so many people, but she had to admit that it was at least one thing she'd done right.

* * *

><p>*ground-tying: meaning a horse will stay put if the lead-line or reins are dropped on the ground and left<br>*flake: a "section" of hay in a bale; four flakes to a bale


	2. Chapter 2

_The turns you had to take still keep you awake_  
><em>Down come the walls where you once stood<em>  
><em>From constant changes you have made<em>  
><em>You'll keep inside 'til you have a say<em>

_We change as we get older_  
><em>We're not to stay<em>  
><em>The days we walked are over<em>

_Now we just drive away_  
><em>From everything I know<em>  
><em>You're counting days on the back of your hands<em>  
><em>You turn the pages 'til you have no more plans<br>_

_-_ "Pages" by There for Tomorrow

* * *

><p><strong>Angela<strong>

Angela awoke the next morning at sunrise. Michael was still asleep, but if the schedule was correct, then he could afford it. She double-checked her clipboard after she dressed and retied her hair back into its usual ponytail. The weekly mission had been completed, she'd checked the crops the morning before, and it was another person's turn to prepare breakfast. Her stomach growled, and she decided that food would be her first task. The smell of cooking eggs brought Angela's mouth to water; granted, they were powdered and the bacon was getting old, but it was enough to fill her stomach until lunch time. Many of the children were still asleep, but a majority of the adults had already begun on their daily tasks. Smiling at the cook, Patricia, Angela set her dirties in the bin and headed off to the infirmary.

Fred was seated beside Gert's bed, her wrinkly, frail hand encased in his. She was in a hospital gown, one that had been left over at the base. She mustered a small smile when Angela walked in, but overall, she didn't look too well. She was more pallid than normal and her eyes were dull and drooping, a sure sign the pneumonia was wearing her down. Angela nodded at Fred, who whispered a goodbye, pecked Gert on the forehead, and excused himself.

"Angie, oh my, you're looking well," Gert chirped. Her voice was hoarse from many years of smoking when she was younger, but her eyes lit up like she was twenty again. Angela smiled, but it disappeared as Gert flew into a small coughing fit. Angela handed her the glass of water on the stand beside the bed and took it from the old woman when she was finished.

"How're you feeling, Gertie?" Angela asked, smiling again as the woman immediately latched onto her hand. She stroked the woman's leathery skin, the gesture comforting both of them.

"I've had worse, you know." She contradicted her own statement as another cough tore from her throat. Gert waved her hand when Angela picked up the water glass again. The younger woman frowned worriedly. "Cancer, seventy-six."

"Right," Angela nodded, her frown dropping. "I remember. Too much smoking."

"Horrible habit, smoking." Angela nodded her agreement. "How are the kids doing?"

"They're doing fine. They're keeping up with their work and the small lessons we have every Thursday."

"And how's little Kendra?" Angela smiled. Kendra had always been Gert's favorite, even if the elderly woman didn't know sign language. The little girl was quite fond of her Gert herself, viewing her as a grandmother she'd never had. Even though Kendra would never be able to hear Gert's stories, the two were perfectly content coloring together before Gert became ill.

"I saw her the other day, and she's doing okay, adjusting well. My sign language is getting better, and I can understand her a little bit better, too." Gert smiled and nodded.

"Is that so? Good. I like that little girl. She's a sweet thing. Shame about her parents, though."

Kendra's parents had worked in the local hospital, a doctor and a nurse. When the army came and they lost control, Mr. and Mrs. Whitson had been some of the victims when the army began shooting exposed civilians. Kendra had still been at school, and though she was never told—or signed to—Angela had a feeling the little girl knew already what had happened to her parents.

"Yes. It's a shame what's happened to all of them, really, even those who have found comfort in other families."

"It's a cruel, cruel world now, Angie. Meaner than it used to be, and that's saying something. Don't ever let those kids out of your sight. If you do, it might be the last time you ever see them. Kids don't belong in a world like this. None of us do. It's that damn government and their biological testing." Angela chuckled as Gert fired off more of her conspiracy theories. The two women talked for a little while longer, before Gert began to yawn.

"I think it's time for your afternoon nap," Angela noted. Gert nodded and settled into her pillows as Angela pulled the blanket up to her chin. "I'll be back after dinner, Gert." And she laid a final kiss on the old woman's forehead as she drifted off to sleep. Angela closed the door behind her and brushed away a stray tear. It'd be hard to watch that old woman go. She was one of the oldest in the compound and was a grandmother to most of the kids.

Angela composed herself and left the infirmary to see to today's next task. A young man, Walt, waved her up onto one of the observation towers in the base. She ascended the ladder and stepped up beside him. Walt was twenty-two, Michael's age, and was built similarly to her brother. Broad-shouldered and lean, Walt was almost pure muscle. His sandy blond hair and bright blue eyes made him a looker, and some of the younger girls of the compound had confessed to crushing hard on the bachelor. He smiled brightly as Angela stood next to him.

"Whaddya got?" she asked, her arms crossed over her chest. Walt handed her the binoculars in his hand and Angela brought them to her eyes.

"Few biters wandered in, but it doesn't look like there are any more comin'. Thought ya might wanna dispose of 'em." Angela nodded and handed back the binoculars.

"Yeah, but no guns." Walt let go of the sniper rifle propped up against the cement. "I don't wanna draw any more here. Better if I go out with a knife and take of them that way. I'll have Matt come with me. Thanks for the update." Walt nodded and Angela climbed down the ladder to find Matt.

Matt McGuire was a forty-two-year-old former officer in the army. He was honorably dispatched after Afghanistan left him an-almost cripple, and he spent the rest of his time managing a pizza shop. He'd said it had always been his dream to open up a restaurant, and with the funds from the army, he had been able to do it. His wife, Laura, and daughter, Susie, had survived when the outbreak hit and he met up with them shortly after evacuating their hometown of Athens.

He was speaking with Fred when Angela found him, and he politely excused himself to speak with her. He was a tall, burly man and though he was once toned and in shape, age and experience had caught up with him, as well as more than a few beers.

"Got a few biters outside the gate. Thought you might wanna help me get rid o' 'em." Matt chuckled.

"And let you have all the fun? I wouldn't miss it for the world." Angela smiled as they headed towards the gate. A few of the biters had noticed movement behind the fence and had wandered over in search of a fresh meal.

"In case you haven't heard, Matt, world's gone to shit."

"Ain't that the truth?" And that signified the end of their conversation as they quickly put down all six biters. Matt waved to Angela as they headed back inside, the gate sliding shut behind them. Angela wandered over to the water basin and washed her hands free of biter gore. Man, those bastards stunk. Once her hands were clean, she set off for the stables. Two barn hands were already mucking out the handmade stalls, their inhabitants tethered in the aisle.

She gave each horse a greeting pat on the nose and neck and stood in front of Hercules. She smiled at one of the hands and pulled a handful of hay from the new bale, holding it under the horse's nose.

"How you doing today, Herc?" The horse snorted in reply. Angela stroked his ears as they flitted forward. "Maybe wanna go for a ride today?" She laughed when Hercules tossed and shook his large head.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea to me, too. I'll be back later, bud." His muzzle twitched under the contact when she pressed a small kiss to the skin, and Angela left the barn.

By lunch time, all, or at least most, of the base's daily tasks had been completed. There had been no new biter intrusions since this morning and so far, things were looking good. Angela paid a visit to her former students, who had bunked in a cabin together with two childless adults. They were a young married couple, but the world ended before they had the chance to have any children. Both of them also agreed that the apocalypse in which the dead rose was not the ideal place to raise a child. Fortunately, there were plenty of orphaned children to keep them happy.

"Good morning!" Angela called as she stepped inside the cabin. Johnny and Jacob each took hold of her legs in excitement. Maria and Henry, the young couple, looked up from the book they were reading to Sam and Alice and smiled at Angela.

"Morning, Angie. How's everything going?" asked Henry. Alice and Sam shuffled out of the bed to hug Angela calmly, unlike Jacob and Johnny who were still attached to her legs.

"Looking very good. There were a few intruders this morning but we took care of them. How have these little rugrats been?" Angela reached down to ruffle Jacob's hair, and the little boy aimed a gap-toothed grin at her.

"They've been perfect. No fights, no arguments. A little fussing when it's time for bed, but other than that, they're perfect." Angela felt her heart swell at the ear-to-ear smile that stretched across Maria's face. She was clearly enjoying the role of a mother; she loved these kids as if they were her own, and Angela was happy to see that someone was making the most of this new world.

"Good to hear, otherwise I might have to punish them with…" Angela paused for effect, smirking when each pair of little eyes widened, "Tickle attacks!" She bent over and tickled Jacob's and Johnny's sides, emitting excited shrieks from them. The adults laughed as the boys tried to move away from Angela's assaulting fingers.

"You guys gonna be good for Maria and Henry?" she asked.

"Yes! Yes we will!" Jacob and Johnny laughed, falling over onto their backs.

"Promise me!"

"We promise!" Angela pulled her hands away as the boys caught their breath.

"Good boys. Now, gimme a hug. I've gotta go check on your Grandma Gertie."

Michael was sitting by Gert's bedside when Angela walked in. He smiled at his sister but didn't excuse himself like Fred had. Angela perched on the bed on Gert's other side and took the woman's hand.

"How you feelin' Gert? Any better than this morning?"

"'Fraid not, Angie. This cold and sinus medication doesn't seem to be working. Got anything stronger?" Angela frowned and shook her head. "Damn. Could have gone for some heavy-grade cold medication to knock me out for a few hours."

"I can see if there's any Nyquil left for you? It'll make you really drowsy and hopefully it'll help with the pneumonia." She stood up from the bed and headed into the room next door, where the medical supplies were kept. She scoured the plastic bins but came up empty in terms of Nyquil. Instead, she grabbed a bottle of Tylenol PM.

"Unfortunately, no Nyquil. But I did find some Tylenol."

"Sure, pop me out a couple." Gert tossed the two small caplets into her mouth and washed them down with a generous gulp of water. "How long till it kicks in?"

"Uh, half an hour," Angela replied, reading the bottle. Gert scoffed.

"Sheesh, this new world medicine really trumps the old stuff, don't it?" Angela and Michael chuckled. "How's everything going today? Any problems?"

"A few biters wandered in from the woods but Matt and I took care of them with no problems."

"And Jacob and Johnny?"

"Happy. Maria and Henry are ecstatic to be parents. Well, as close as they can be in this world."

"That's good. Are you going for your ride this afternoon?"

"Yeah, after I check in on the Hansons and Kendra."

Gert suddenly smiled wistfully, staring blankly at the opposite wall. "I remember the first time I ever got on the back of a horse. I was eight, and my granddaddy owned a farm just a mile down the road from us. He said I was too young to get on just yet, but for my eighth birthday, he took me for a trail ride on this old black nag named Nelly. She was a mean, fat horse, but she was good with kids on her back. Granddaddy took me up the ridge to this secret little pond that he found when he was a kid. Before he died, he gave me Nelly and every summer until I was twenty I'd pack a picnic lunch and ride up to the lake. And me and Nelly would just sit in the shade and watch the deer come out of the woods for a drink."

Angela smiled and squeezed the woman's hand. Gert was one of the sweetest elderly women she'd ever had the pleasure of knowing and, though it seemed fruitless, she prayed Gert would come out of her sickness. Michael left shortly after, and when the Tylenol began to take effect, Angela tucked Gert in again and shut the door to her room.

Kendra lived with an older couple whose son had been lost when Wildfire had been put into effect. He'd been in Atlanta for a business meeting when the outbreak hit and he camped out in the refugee center to wait for his family. Unfortunately, when Atlanta was lost, the refugee center had been the first to be destroyed. A few of the infected had masked their bites and scratches exceedingly well, and when they turned, no one had been expecting it. Fortunately—at least, that was how Angela and the man's parents had seen it—Aaron had died due to the explosion rather than the infection; therefore, his death was quick and he didn't have to suffer very long. While it was still a touchy subject for the Hansons, they easily adapted to caring for Kendra in Aaron's stead.

"Afternoon, Angie!" Mr. Hanson, a fifty-something balding man, called from the side of the cabin. He was constructing a play set for the kids to use when they were bored and had finished their chores. He used rubber from abandoned and flat tires as swing seats, and somewhere he'd dug up chains to hang from the wood. Today he was working on the tire swing that could be hung from a tree the survivors had planted inside the base.

"Hey Gary. It looks good! How long do you think till you finish it?" Angela asked, assessing the progress he'd made. The older man straightened and wiped his forehead, blinking proudly at his work.

"Not too long now. Maybe another week or so?"

"Let me know when it's finished and I'll help you set it up. Maggie home?"

"Yep. She's in there washing that lettuce Larry harvested yesterday. Have a good one!" Angela waved as she headed into the cabin. Maggie was at the nightstand, on top of which sat a water basin. A wicker basket of lettuce sat on the bed. On the other, Kendra sat with her small legs hanging over the edge, a coloring book open in her lap. An array of crayons was scattered on the quilt beside her.

"Hey Maggie." The woman turned around and smiled at Angela.

"Angela! So good of you to visit. How are things going?" Angela sat down on the bed with Kendra, laying a kiss on the little girl's head.

"Good. A few biters this morning but nothing we couldn't handle." Maggie gave Angela a mothering stare.

"I wish you wouldn't go out there like that…"

"Matt was with me, Mags. Besides, if we don't take care of them, they'll crowd around the fence every time they see us move. Then if we ever had to leave, we'd be trapped. Don't worry, Mags, I can handle it." Angela smiled with reassurance, but Maggie still seemed skeptical. The woman was just as motherly to the other survivors and while her care was appreciated, Angela was a grown woman who could take care of herself.

"Are you going for your afternoon ride soon?" Maggie asked, thankfully changing the subject.

"Yeah. I want to give Hercules as much exercise as I can before the weather gets too chilly." Maggie hummed in reply and Angela turned to Kendra, smiling down at the little girl. The seven-year-old looked up and Angela signed for "how are you".

_Good, but Mama made me do math problems._

**Well, math is important.**

_How? All it is are a bunch of numbers that make more numbers._

Angela thought her response through carefully. **Because since there's no more school, we have to make sure you still learn what's important.**

_I still don't like it._

**I didn't like it either when I was your age. My teacher loved me, though, because I was always staying after for extra help.**

Angela signed with Kendra for a while and helped her color in Ariel from _The Little Mermaid_ before she headed out to the stables for her ride. Hercules had his head out of his stall and he tossed it happily and nickered when Angela stepped inside. She led him into the aisle and tacked him up quickly. Once they left the barn, she lifted a foot into the stirrup and swung up onto his back. Nudging his sides, Angela steered to him to gate, which was pulled open. The men wished her an enjoyable ride and Angela waved back as she pushed Hercules into a brisk trot.

They veered off to the left, where Angela knew a small stream curled its way around the base. It led up into the hills and eventually let out into a lake a few miles away. Angela took Hercules up to the lake, enjoying the afternoon view across the water. They circled the lake, and Angela dismounted to give Hercules's back a break from the saddle and to let him drink from the lake. She sat on the grass, leaning back on the saddle, and watched Hercules lift his head from the water, his ears flitting back and forth, listening to the sounds coming from the landscape around them. Hercules stomped a hoof and snorted, his head turning to the left, ears pricked forward.

"What is it, Herc?" Angela asked, sitting up just in case she had to move fast. One of the horse's ears flitted backwards, but he still kept his gaze on the forest. Angela stood and picked up the saddle, quickly doing up the girth. She swung into the saddle and cautiously nudged Hercules forward. If it was a biter, she could get away faster on horseback than on foot, and she wasn't going to leave Hercules as bait. The horse treaded carefully into the woods, its rider keeping a sharp lookout for whatever had held his attention.

Angela slowed Hercules to a stop at the top of a ridge, and the two looked down. Upon seeing them, Angela immediately backed Hercules up a few steps to keep him out of sight and dismounted, keeping the reins in her hand. She crouched down and forward, peering over the ridge just as the troupe of people—living people—came to a stop. A few water bottles were passed out. The group was mostly adults led by a tall, skinny man in a police officer's uniform. There was a larger, more muscular man with a shaved head and a skinny brunette. A small child stood by her side, where his father's wide-brimmed police hat. There were two other women, one with short-cropped greying hair and a blond with a rifle in her hands. A little blond girl sat on a rock and an older man in a fisher's hat looked out over the landscape. Then Angela noticed another man in dirty attire, cradled under the arm of an African-American man. Their voices carried up towards Angela, allowing her to hear every word.

"Rick, Daryl can't go much further. He's stopped bleedin' but if we don't get it closed up it could get bad," the man, holding who Angela presumed was Daryl, said. The skinny cop strode over to the pair and lifted Daryl's head, taking a look at an apparent wound on the side of his skull.

"We should change the bandage now, at least, and hope we can find someplace to rest safely for the night. Dale, can you help T?"

The men sat the injured Daryl on a rock, and Angela heard him groan all the way up the ridge. With his left side to her, she could clearly see a bloodied bandaged taped around his head. She fought for her lunch to stay down as Dale, the older man in the hat, began to unravel the bloody gauze. As he peeled it away, Angela gasped inaudibly. A large gash from his forehead to the back of his head was still bleeding, though not too heavily. Dale cleaned the wound with peroxide in his first-aid kit. Daryl's head was wrapped with a fresh bandage and he was given water out of a canteen. The group rested for a few moments more until Rick called for the company to move yet again. Angela's eyes widened as they continued in their predetermined direction—straight for the military base.

* * *

><p>Thoughts?<p>

xx ZM


	3. Chapter 3

_Sometimes they say this should feel something like fire  
>'Til it burns you and you can't,<br>No, you can't remain the same  
>Stay the same, stay the same, stay the same<br>I can't change_

_You're losing your light,  
>Everything that was yours just does not exist<br>So don't even try to say  
>Sorry for the things in life you might have missed<br>_

- "Fire" by Sleeping with Sirens

* * *

><p><strong>Daryl<strong>

_Goddamn son of a bitch_, Daryl cursed as his head gave another painful throb. He silently reprimanded himself for not watching his feet; he'd been hunting and tracking for so long that he no longer had to look where he was walking. _I was fuckin' wrong_. He sat against a tree as everyone bustled around him; he'd moved to help, but Carol had immediately ordered him to sit his ass back down. He hated the feeling of uselessness, which was exactly what he was when he was injured. At least, the others made him so. He knew it was because they didn't want him injuring himself further, but in the back of his head, he was complaining that he wasn't _that_ hurt.

A wave of dizziness passed over him as he turned his head too quickly. Pressing a hand to the uninjured side, Daryl sat still and waited for the sound again, but it never came. He thought he heard the pounding of footsteps off in the distance, but with everyone clangin' and bangin' around, it was impossible to tell. Besides, they would tell him he'd gone nuts if he bothered to tell them. He rolled his eyes and lifted his hand to his mouth to chew on the side of his thumbnail, a habit that signified he was deep in thought. He watched Rick talk with Shane, both them standing defensively. Obviously whatever they were talking about wasn't good. _Like I care_. Carol was helping Lori prepare a small dinner over the fire they'd built. Andrea was standing guard with her trusty rifle—with which she'd actually shot at him one time in the past—and Dale was sitting on a log next to Carl and Sophia. And there was Daryl, sitting up against a tree by himself.

Daryl felt more alone now as he watched the group interact with one another. They all got along splendidly, while he was and always had been the outcast. When Merle was here, he at least had someone to talk to. Now, the only reason these people looked to him was for food. He guaranteed that, without him, these survivors would have never lasted as long as they had. He was an essential part of the group, but only when it came to survival. None of them actually sought his friendship or his opinion about anything, and why would he want to befriend these people? They all judged him before they even knew him, thought he was just some dumb hick who drank cheap whiskey. But had he done anything to disprove them of those theories? He only spoke when he was spoken to, which wasn't often in itself. The only time any of them—usually it was Rick—asked for his input, it was what to make of tracks in the path or what kind of animals inhabited the area.

He could act like it didn't bother him all he wanted; deep down, he knew it did, and every time even felt that splinter into his heart, Merle was in the back of his head, patronizing.

"_Yer a Dixon, boy. Dixons don't need nobody. You don't need nobody. 'Cept ol' Merle, but he gone now, ain't he? Look'it ya, gettin' yer panties in a twist jus' 'cause these pricks won't let ya join in playtime. Yer not one o' them, lil' brother. Ain't never were, ain't gonna be. They don't care 'bout ya; no one but Merle did that. Look'it, can't even bind yer wound good. They don't care 'bout you. Yer trailer-park trash to them, worthless. Only thing yer good at is keepin' 'em fed and even then ya barely get a thank ya. Ye'll see, lil' brother, they'll abandon ya soon as opportunity strikes."_

Daryl blinked and he was back with the Atlanta survivors in the woods. They were setting up the tents they'd packed, and T-Dog, regardless of receiving a harsh glare from Daryl, offered to set up Daryl's tent. He'd never say it out loud, but he and T-Dog were getting along better now that Merle was physically gone. Their relationship couldn't be termed as friendship, though; perhaps, tolerable was a better word. Merle's voice was still in the back of his head, though, chastising him for "makin' nice with a nigger".

"_Ain't right_," Merle would say. "_Our kinds ain't meant to mix."_

T-Dog made small talk as he set up the tent, talking about his family before the world went to shit. Daryl listened quietly, but he never responded except with a small, barely audible grunt of acknowledgement here and there. T-Dog didn't expect much more out of him, and he was fine with Daryl's silence. As long as he wasn't spewing derogatory words in his direction, Daryl was okay in T-Dog's book, unlike his bigoted older brother. The younger Dixon was much more pleasant to be around, regardless of the fact that he kept to himself. With Merle gone, he didn't get the hateful sneers and jeers and snide, racist comments. Granted, he still felt guilty and responsible for what happened to Merle, but he'd stopped thinking about it shortly after the group had been forced to vacate the area. It was silently agreed that Merle was probably dead—or undead—since he most likely couldn't survive with only one hand. Daryl, on the other hand, was persistent in believing his brother was still alive, and neither Rick nor the others had the heart to discourage him. As long as he didn't go running off into the woods while he was basically concussed, they were glad for his reluctance to let that hope die. It meant there was at least _some_ hope left, for one of them leastwise.

Daryl stayed by his tree for most of the night, but Carol carried a plate of food over to him when it was time to eat. He nodded shortly and sat up to eat. He listened to the conversation buzzing around the group; what their plan of action would be, where they would camp for the next few nights until they found a place a little more permanent. Shane provided that they'd need to find a place to scavenge from; their stores were running low, and with Daryl injured, they needed another source of food and fast.

"We're just gonna have to ration until we can find a department store or somethin'. I doubt there's anythin' close by. We'll head out early in the mornin' and continue lookin'. It's the only bet we have at this point," Rick answered. He looked around the group; every one of them had lost a significant amount of weight since they'd left their last semi-permanent station. It was an abandoned farm not too far off from where their current location, and the former owners had left their food stores intact. There had been enough supplies to last them for at least a few weeks before they had to go out and scavenge. There were enough bedrooms so everyone could enjoy a good night's sleep on a comfortable bed, and the water heater was still working. It was paradise, but it all seemed too good to be true. About two weeks in, a horde of walkers just passing through, drawn by some noise that the survivors hadn't heard, came upon the property and overran it, forcing the survivors out of their heaven and back out into the wild. They'd brought as much non-perishable food and water that they could pack, and it had lasted for three days, up until now when a daily inventory was taken.

"We need to get outta these woods. Ain't safe," Shane argued. Daryl watched silently as Shane went off on yet another power trip. The former cop had been doing that a lot lately, questioning Rick's decisions as if Rick were a child instead of a grown man. Daryl didn't much care for either cop, but he trusted Rick knew what he was doing. He'd been a cop, for God's sake, and Daryl trusted him to keep them safe. So far, he'd done a hell of a job. A few close calls, but nonetheless, Rick had done just what he'd promised he'd do.

Shane, on the other hand, was farther down on Daryl's list of favorite people. The man was abrasive and forceful, and he had a problem with keeping his mouth shut. More than once Daryl found himself tempted to pop Shane right in his jaw, maybe break it, but he held back every time, knowing that fighting within the group was the last thing any of them needed. Before Rick came back, when it was believed he was dead, Daryl knew what Shane and Lori were doing. Once or twice while he was on a hunt, he'd stumble across them in the woods and he'd leave them be. It wasn't any of his business what went on between them, and frankly, he didn't care enough to know. But once that affair began to endanger the group, Daryl would be one of the first to throw himself into the mix to keep everyone safe.

Sometime later, everyone began packing up to head off to bed. Daryl glanced back at his tent. He wouldn't be able to get into it without help or feeling dizzy if he did it himself.

"I'll take first watch," he spoke. Rick stopped and looked to him. "Won't sleep with this headache anyways." Rick nodded and followed Lori into the ten they shared with their ten-year-old son, Carl. The sounds of zippers closing surrounded Daryl as he sat back against the tree. T-Dog walked up to him and sat on a log beside him. Daryl didn't say anything, but he was curious.

"I'll sit with ya. If somethin' happens, ya gonna need someone who can actually stand to take 'em out." T-Dog smiled crookedly and a corner of Daryl's lip twitched, but that was as far as his smile got.

The two men sat in the silence as the night closed in around them. Sounds of nocturnal animals could be heard as they foraged for food. Neither Daryl nor T-Dog engaged each other in conversation, and Daryl was just fine with that. He could listen for any alien sounds better if they stayed silent. The silence stretched throughout the night until Shane emerged from his tent to take second watch. Without a word or a glance at either men in front of Daryl's tent, Shane crouched by the fire's edge. Sparing T-Dog a glance, Daryl nodded and T-Dog stood and helped Daryl into his tent. Daryl gave another nod of thanks and goodnight, and T-Dog gave a salute before the tent zipped closed.

Daryl lay awake staring at the ceiling of his tent for some time. He could hear Shane sniffing occasionally outside at the fire, and for the briefest of moments, he considered crawling back outside to join him. Then he scoffed to himself and rolled over to face the wall. He'd die first before he ever sat side-by-side with Shane—as friends. The word was alien to him. The only friend he had was his crossbow; the weapon hadn't ever let him down, unlike every person that ever walked into his life. With these people, he was surviving. Nothing more, nothing less.

The next morning, the group headed out early. T-Dog, once again, had Daryl's arm over his shoulder and was helping the other man walk. T-Dog was thankful that Daryl had nothing nasty to say, unlike his brother, who, if he was here instead of Daryl, would be spewing out racist words and phrases. Hell, Merle probably wouldn't let T-Dog anywhere near him. The younger Dixon was obviously better company than his brother.

The group traveled northwest for quite some time, stopping only for bathroom breaks—which were frequent in the case of Lori—and sips of water, which was also running low. The sun was high in the sky when the group stopped yet again for Lori. Daryl bit back a groan of annoyance. T-Dog leaned him against a tree so they could both catch their breath. Lori returned a few moments later, buttoning up her jeans, and Rick took a minute to pass around the water jug. Daryl waved it away and waited for T-Dog to finish. Then they pressed on again.

It was nearing sunset when the group drew closer to the edge of the woods. Through the trees, a massive structure could be seen, and Rick stopped the group to evaluate the area. Just feet ahead, the woods merged into a large clearing where, smack in the middle, sat what looked like a former military base. There were cement walls on all sides and barbed wire coiled across the top. A sliding chain-link fence acted as the entrance, and behind it, Rick could barely make out the shapes of people milling about the space inside. Shane stepped up beside his friend. Without looking at him, Rick asked the taller man's opinion.

"It looks safe, secure. But what about the people inside? Might not be lookin' to make friends," Shane replied, keeping his voice low.

"Not harm in tryin'. Maybe they'll be a little more sympathetic once they see we're hurt with children. Five minute break, and then we'll hit it."

Rick stood, discussing their plan further with Shane, while everyone else took a seat for a few minutes. Daryl remained standing, with T-Dog's shoulder as a crutch. He looked on as Shane and Rick talked with their hands. It didn't seem like an angry argument, just an excited one. Both men were trying to get their points across, talking over each other. Daryl himself wasn't sure how he felt about this military base. Shane was right—these people might not be too friendly upon the arrival of a bunch of strangers. They could be vicious, kill their men, take their women and children. On the other hand, though, Rick was right, too—they wouldn't truly know unless they tried. But was it worth the risk? In this new age, no one could be trusted. Who knew if these people wouldn't attack them as soon as they were within range? Or, if they did let them inside, that they wouldn't forcefully disarm them, take their supplies, and lock them up somewhere to get picked apart by walkers?

"All right, everyone," Shane called a short time later. "Let's saddle up." The group rose at once and T-Dog resumed his position beside Daryl. Then they headed out into the sunlight.

Daryl hobbled along with T at the back of the pack. Ahead, at the base, he saw a few people standing guard on the towers. Their voices carried across the bare land, calling out warnings to whoever else was inside. A sense of dread fell over the group, as if they suddenly realized that there was a very good chance that they were outnumbered. Daryl looked around at his fellow survivors; they all bore the same worried look. Ahead, Shane exchanged a look with Rick. More people appeared at the tops of the towers, a few with binoculars. Rick placed a hand on his sidearm cautiously, but he didn't remove it.

As the survivors drew closer, they could now easily see that each person on the tower had some sort of long-range weapon trained on them. Mostly there were bows, but Daryl spotted a couple sniper-rifles with suppressors as well.

"Hold it right there!" a feminine voice called from one of the towers. The survivors stopped, hearing the familiar cocking of guns. Daryl peered up into the sunlight; a sniper rifle was trained right on Rick's head. "Drop your weapons and step away from them!" Rick shared another look with Shane and gave a small nod. Holding up his free hand, he pulled his sidearm out of its holster and tossed it away. He glanced back at the others to do the same. Quickly, they disarmed and took three large steps away from the discarded weapons.

"Now what do you want?" the voice called again. Rick held his hands up.

"Please," he replied. "We're injured, and we have children. We're not lookin' for trouble. Only some rest and some medical help."

"You best turn yourselves around now!"

"Please! We…we've been travelin' nonstop for four days! We're low on supplies. One of ours, he hit his head! Won't stop bleedin' and we can't stitch it! Please. Our children can't go much longer without some rest and water."

There was a pregnant pause and each survivor was on the tip of his toes. There was movement on the towers, but the sun was far too bright in its setting that Rick couldn't clearly see what was going on. Suddenly someone appeared at the chain-link fence, a loaded rifle in her hands. Daryl squinted against the sun and used his hand as a visor. The barrel of the rifle was stuck through one of the holes in the fence and pointed at Rick.

"How many of ya are there?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled by the butt of the gun.

"Eleven, with two kids. And one pregnant woman," Rick replied, a relieved sigh leaving his mouth. The woman looked around the group with narrowed eyes, her gaze settling suspiciously on Daryl, with his head wrapped and a leer on his face. Slowly pulling the gun from the fence, she flipped the safety and slung the weapon over her shoulder.

"You'll leave your weapons. They'll be confiscated. All of you put your hands on your heads and walk slowly. Any o' you so much as make any sort o' move you'll be shot on sight. Y'hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," Rick replied. Shane clenched his jaw as he watched Rick step forward. The chain-link fence was slowly pulled open and Rick stepped through, his hands on the back of his head. The weapons on the towers were still trained on the newcomers as each of them stepped into the base. Daryl slowly hobbled behind T, his hands held painfully to his head. After being held up for so long, he barely had the strength to stand on his own. He fell to his knees once he was inside, and the woman immediately had the safety flipped and the rifle pointed at him again.

Rick held out a hand to her as he cautiously stepped over to Daryl. "Wait. He's the one who hit his head. Hasn't been standin' on his own for a few days. His strength prob'ly gave out. He needs medical help immediately."

"I'll be callin' the shots," the woman fired back. Rick snapped his mouth shut. "What happened?"

"Uh, I don't really…"

"Was on a hunt, wasn't watchin' my footin', took a little tumble down a slope and bumped my head on a rock. Wanna know what I was wearin' too?" Daryl replied weakly, a hand pressed lightly to his spinning head. The woman lowered her gun slowly and glanced back at a couple of her companions. She ordered them to bring Daryl to the infirmary and that she'd be there soon. Two large men stepped forward and each grabbed underneath Daryl's arms. He didn't have the strength to struggle, even though he wasn't too keen on being manhandled. Instead, he let them carry him off so he could finally catch a wink of sleep, if he was lucky.

He was placed in an empty bed and given painkillers, which took effect quickly. He was fast asleep in minutes.

**Angela**

Angela assessed the newcomers in front of her. Thin, pale, and weak, they put up no fight whatsoever when they were patted down. The children shook and huddled beside their mothers, watching each stranger with wide eyes. She kept her rifle close as the bulky man with the buzz cut shot a warning look at one of her men. Her eyes slightly narrowed. He'd be a troublemaker; she could tell already. The other man, the skinny cop, was compliant, letting the men check and double-check him for hidden weapons. When everything was confiscated, the men then went outside the gate to fetch the weapons the newcomers had tossed aside.

She stood with her fists on her hips, watching each person closely. The smart-mouthed redneck had been taken to the infirmary, and once she was finished in her assessment of these people, she'd be heading straight there to make sure no funny business went down.

"I want these people separated into two empty cabins. Keep the families together, and I want a watch on both twenty-four-seven. If they need to go somewhere, I want escorts. None of them go anywhere without a guard. Understood?" she ordered. The men chorused their affirmatives. Angela pointed at Rick. "You, come with me. I want some info on your injured friend."

Rick nodded and fell into step beside her as they headed towards the infirmary. Rick kept his hand on his holster, despite its emptiness. Angela was wary of the man walking beside her, a tight grip on the strap on her rifle.

"He hit his head like he said?" she asked, wanting to pick apart every single detail. She'd be damned if she let a small error in detail cost her the lives of the people inside the base.

Rick nodded and reached up to wipe sweat from his forehead. "Yeah. He came limpin' back after that hunt. I guess he misjudged a step and fell down into a ravine. We bandaged it as best we could, but it was still bleedin' a bit. Name's Rick Grimes." Angela glanced cautiously down at the hand he suddenly thrust in her direction and slowly reached forward to shake it.

"Angela Warren. Where you from?"

"King County, Georgia, originally. I was in a coma until a couple of weeks ago. I was a sheriff's deputy, got shot on the job. Guess I was out through the beginning of this mess."

"Then you're lucky. It was chaos when this all started. The military didn't even know what to do. People looting and fighting for working cars when they couldn't even get into the city. Then they napalmed the shit out of Atlanta, destroyed all chance of a refugee center."

"Where were you when it happened?" Rick asked. Angela pursed her lips. How much could she tell this man?

"I was visiting my parents. It was my mom's birthday before it happened. Woke up to my brother shaking me, yelling at me that we had to go. Mom and Dad weren't quick enough. The biters swarmed the house and we just made it out the back door. Michael and I, we headed north out of Georgia, wound up here. The others kind of trickled in after and some we picked up on scavenges."

"How many of you are here?" Rick asked, looking impressively around the base.

"About a hundred." Rick's jaw dropped and Angela smirked slightly. She held the door open to the infirmary for him and followed him inside. "Down the hall on the left." Rick regarded her instructions with a nod and pushed the door open.

Daryl lay on the bed, fast asleep due to the heavy-duty painkillers. Nothing had been removed just yet, not even the bandage around his head that was beginning to bleed through. His fingers twitched beside his thigh. _Probably dreaming_, Angela thought.

"His name's Daryl. He and his brother came to the group early on, back when they were still at the quarry. Merle was…a problem, for lack of a better word, and we had an incident in Atlanta. He was left behind." Angela frowned and looked down at the sleeping Daryl. "Daryl wasn't too happy hearin' his brother was gone, and that day we went back into the city. I'd handcuffed him to a piece o' metal on the roof, but he was gone when we got there. He cut his hand off at the wrist."

Angela swallowed and began to unravel Daryl's head bandage. She grimaced when the stained gauze fell away to reveal a large, bloody gash. A small infection had begun to set in, pus bubbles surrounded the laceration. Angela discarded the bandage.

"He has a small infection. I think we've got some antibiotics to prevent it from getting any worse. I'm gonna have to stitch it, too, and we'll have to wake him up in a bit to make sure he doesn't slip into a coma."

"You think he has a concussion?" Rick asked, twirling his hat in his fingers. Angela shrugged.

"If he couldn't stand on his own, it's possible. He needs rest, and then I'll have to wake him up. He seems to be okay now, but just to be sure." Angela then reached for the bottle of antiseptic, as well as the first aid kit. Opening it, she pulled out a suture and a thread. She soaked a cotton ball in antiseptic and dabbed away at the gash until most of the dried blood and dirt was clear.

She stitched the wound skillfully and quickly, having been taught by Fred. He'd been busy taking inventory of the food stores in one of the empty cabins and had been unable to tend to the injured newcomer. Then she placed a hand on Daryl's shoulder and gave him a hard shake. He stirred but didn't wake, and Angela shook him again and again until he finally roused, spewing venom.

"The hell are you?" he growled, jerking out of Angela's grip. She rolled her eyes.

"My name is Angela. Your group has been taken in. You've hit your head pretty hard and I've just finished stitching it. You have a small infection and I have to keep you awake to be sure that you don't have a concussion and slip into a coma." Daryl gritted his teeth but stayed silent. His eyes found Rick in the corner.

"How are you feeling, Daryl?" Rick asked, stepping up beside the bed. Daryl lifted himself to his elbows.

"Like shit. Head hurts. Those painkillers did wonders, though. Got any more?"

"We have a few left. If the pain gets bad, then I'll give you more. Until then, we have to ration them. Now, since you clearly seem to be in working order, you should probably go back to sleep. I'll send someone to sit with you and wake you up continuously until we're sure you won't go comatose. C'mon, Rick, I'll show you around."

When Daryl slipped back into slumber, Angela led Rick out of the infirmary, closing the door to Daryl's room behind her. They walked back outside into the setting sun, which cast an orange glow across the interior of the base. Rick looked around; more of the survivors had come out and were gathered around a fire pit with a spit across it. They were roasting something that brought his mouth to water, but Angela led him away, down the main street. Cabins had been erected on both sides, and Angela took the time to explain each one. She avoided mentioning in which cabin they kept their food stores, as she wasn't too positive she could trust these people. She pointed to the cabin in which Rick's family had been placed, as well as where the others of his group would be staying.

Their camp was well-established, its residents wary but friendly. The guard posted stood tall and alert, pointing binoculars out over the landscape beyond the fort. The sun was nearly gone, the only light in the fort coming from the large fire in its interior's center. These people had made a stable life here, one that seemed sturdy enough to last a while.

Angela parted ways with Rick outside his family's cabin and headed back to the one she shared with Michael. On her way there, she saw the blonde with Rick's group exploring the grounds with Henry, one of the guards. They were talking animatedly, and Henry seemed the least bit suspicious of the newcomer. Smiling slightly, Angela stepped into the cabin and sat down on her bed with her clipboard to mark off the day's tasks.

* * *

><p>Thoughts? :)<p>

xx ZM


	4. Chapter 4

**Angela**

Angela awoke the next morning bright and early, as always. She stretched and lay in bed for a few moments, allowing her body to rouse fully. Then she sat up and combed through her disheveled hair with her fingers before tying it into her usual ponytail. She changed her clothes quickly and left the cabin; Michael's bed was empty and made, and Angela deduced that he was with Gary helping him to finish the playground. Many of the adults were already getting started on their morning chores, and a handful had begun preparing breakfast. The smell of eggs and home-cooked bacon made Angela's mouth water. Annie, one of the older women in the fort, smiled cheerily and passed Angela a paper plate with two slices of homemade bacon, a spoonful of eggs, and a small triangle of Texas toast made from the small supply of bread they had left.

Angela ate on the way to the infirmary to check on the injured newcomer. She passed by Rick and his wife, to whom she hadn't yet been introduced, but the cop quickly waved her over. The guard beside them, Benny, took his leave when Angela nodded to him.

"Angela, this is my wife, Lori. The little boy you saw with us yesterday is our son, Carl. He's still sleeping." Angela smiled and shook hands with Lori. Her thin hand was cold, and briefly Angela wondered if the woman was anemic or had just been on the road too long.

"Speaking of, how did you all sleep last night? I know our mattresses aren't as comfortable as the Ramada Inn…" Rick waved her sentence away.

"Compared to what we've had to sleep on these past weeks, this place might as well be the Ramada."

Lori quickly jumped in, "We can't thank you enough for what you've done for us. I know it's really hard to trust people in this world now, but we truly appreciate you allowing us to stay here."

"Just remember we haven't quite begun to trust you yet," Angela reminded. "And I'm sure you're all still unsure about us and why we could possibly let you in. But we survive this world, I think, by pulling together and not apart."

Rick grinned and nodded his agreement. "And we're all welcome to chip in and pull our own weight."

"I appreciate that. There are no free-loaders here, in case you haven't noticed." Angela turned around to prove her point. Everyone in the fort was doing something to keep busy and improve their livelihood.

"Seems like you run a tight ship here, Angela." She nodded.

"We're lenient, but the number-one rule is that everyone takes part, helps keep everyone fed and safe."

"How did you find this place?" Lori asked. Angela used her hand as a visor as she watched Michael and Gary hammer away at a few pieces of wood to hold up the swings.

"Well, there were only a few of us at first. Maybe thirty. It was back when everyone was heading into Atlanta for the refugee center, but we all decided that it'd be a lost cause. We'd never get into the city; the highways were packed, every car stopped bumper-to-bumper. Then the army came and set fire to the whole city, and that stomped out any hope we had of being safe. So we hiked a bit, got as far from the city as we dared without leaving the state, and eventually we found this place. It was crawling with biters, but we broke them off into two groups and took them out. There was nobody here when we got in. They'd left in a hurry and they forgot a bunch of supplies."

Lori's eyebrows rose. "Wow. I guess you lucked out."

Angela nodded. "We sure did. One of the radios was still working, so we sent out a broadcast offering help and shelter. I'm not sure who heard it, but a few weeks later people started coming in. A lot of them were traveling in big groups—strength in numbers, I guess—but some of these people looked like they'd seen too many winters. It was a wonder that they'd managed to survive as long as they had."

"Have you ever had any problems? Like marauders?" Rick wondered, glancing around. A somber look fell on Angela's face and she pursed her lips with a small nod.

"Once. There was a small group, about five of them, led by a woman. That's probably what made us even less suspicious of them. That, and the fact that they had a fourteen-year-old boy with them; his parents had been killed when Atlanta burned. None of us thought anything of them. One of the first nights they were here, they tried to set fire to the food cabin. They were caught but they didn't give up without a fight. Gary, the older man building over there, was injured, and so was Alice, one of our older girls. Finally we got them under control and we tied them to a few of the poles over there."

"Did you just leave them there?" Angela shook her head; this was the first time she'd had to tell this story since it happened, and reliving it was something she hoped would never happen.

"We questioned them, asked them why they were trying to destroy our supplies. They didn't give us any answers, which wasn't all that surprising. Michael and I figured they had a bigger group somewhere else, and they just tagged along with others so they could destroy whatever livelihood they'd created, steal their supplies. We couldn't just let them go, let them get back to their group if they had one. We couldn't risk them leading the rest back here, where we'd be trapped and more than likely outnumbered."

"What did you do?" Rick asked almost reluctantly.

"The only thing we could. We shot them. I couldn't risk my people's lives if we let them go." Angela bristled as she caught Rick and Lori's glance at one another. Who were these people to judge her for making a tough choice? "It's a harsh world, harsher than it used to be. If you can't make the tough choices, you don't deserve to live in it. If you'll excuse me, I need to check on your injured friend."

Without another word, Angela brushed by the couple, ignoring their furrowed eyebrows. Obviously these people hadn't been through hell and back, like she and the others had, if they looked at her like that. She didn't need people judging her for trying to keep her people safe. If they couldn't understand that, then maybe they didn't belong in this world.

Angela ran a hand across her forehead as she neared the infirmary. Another man from Rick's group, the man in the fishing hat, approached her, guarded by Anthony. His face was friendly, and his eyes crinkled with many years of smiling and laughter.

"Good morning!" he chirped. "I don't believe we've met. My name is Dale."

"Angela," she replied, taking his hand. She offered a small smile in return, but her anger was still simmering.

"You seem to have everything well under control here," the older man observed, turning to assess the fort. Angela nodded. "How'd you come to find this place?"

Angela retold the story she'd told Rick and Lori, and Dale, like the couple, seemed surprised. He made a few remarks and gave some compliments, and then he inquired about trouble. Again, Angela reiterated the story for him. There was a change in Dale's face, though it wasn't similar to Rick's and Lori's expressions at all. Instead, he looked at Angela like she'd just grown four new heads. It brought Angela's anger out again and her nostrils flared as she exhaled.

"Don't you think it would have been better to just…let them go?" he asked.

"And let them get back to their group if they had one, just to lead them here? That was a risk I wasn't willing to take, and I'd make the same decision now if I had to." Dale's face contorted into disappointment and hopelessness. Angela quickly excused herself, politely to save face, and then she was off again. Again these people questioned her decisions and again she was seething over it. Why? Why did she care what they thought? She didn't, or so she told herself.

Her mind was spinning and she felt tired as she walked into the infirmary. Fred was in Daryl's room and in the process of checking his stitches. Both men looked over as she entered, but only Fred gave her a smile.

"How's he looking, Fred?" she asked, leaning against the counter. The doctor finished replacing the bandage and gave Daryl another antibiotic.

"It's healing nicely, and the infection's getting better, too. He still should stay off his feet though." Angela nodded and Fred took his leave. Neither Angela nor Daryl spoke for quite some time, though Daryl did regard her as he leaned back against the bed.

He noticed the way her eyes seemed to glaze over as she zoned out, and her teeth pulled at her bottom lip in thought. There was a negative air about her. Anger, he guessed. Before she died, his mother looked the same way before she either started screaming her head off or attempting a calm approach. Though with Angela, he couldn't decide which would come first.

"You look like someone jus' spit in yer breakfast," he mumbled. Angela's eyes snapped up to him and he looked down. Probably not the greatest thing he could have said, but he knew if someone spit in his breakfast, he'd look the same way.

"I would've known how to deal with it better. Where is your group from?" Daryl ignored her hasty change in subject and brought his thumb up to chew on his nail.

"Why don't ya just ask Rick?"

"Because I'm asking you."

"Not sure, never bothered to ask. Me and my brother were from Kentucky."

"How'd you end up in Georgia? And where's your brother now?" Angela examined her nails idly. When Daryl didn't answer, she glanced up at him. His face was hard and his blue eyes were shining. Angela frowned.

"Problem in Atlanta. Don't know exactly what went down, but my brother was hooked to a roof and left there to die. Merle and me, we heard about the refugee center, decided to check it out. When Atlanta was bombed we joined up with the group." His voice was thick with anger and sadness, but Angela continued to fire more questions at him.

"Why ya askin' all these questions?" Daryl finally asked, purposely avoiding a question centered around his family.

"Because I need to know that I can trust you people enough to let you stay. You all seem harmless enough, but I need to be sure. We don't treat thieves and psychopaths very nicely around here. So you'll answer my questions or I'll throw you and your friends out."

Daryl clammed up then and he didn't budge. Sighing with frustration, Angela turned and left the room.

"Ain't my friends," Daryl fumed. In his head, Merle appeared.

_Ain't right that a woman's orderin' you 'round like that, lil' brother. Best go teach 'er a lesson in the ways o' the world. Can't just let 'er get away with talkin' to ya like that. Women start barkin' orders, things go wrong. Ain't natural._

Daryl's fingers curled angrily around the sheets as he willed Merle's voice to the farthest dark corner of his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out his brother's patronizing voice. Finally, the voice faded into nothing and Daryl was able to relax. He looked out the window, at the sunshine hitting the windowsill. He was getting antsy. The cabin fever was beginning to take hold.

* * *

><p>Thoughts?<p>

xx ZM


	5. Chapter 5

**Three days later**

**Daryl**

Daryl inhaled deeply as he hoisted a box of canned goods into the food cabin. Angela and two of her men had gone out on another mission and they'd come up quite successful. Along with the canned food, they'd brought back a generous supply of medical equipment, including replacement sutures. Speaking of, his head had healed nicely, though the stitches hadn't been removed just yet. The dizziness had passed and the pain reduced to a slight throb over the wound site. He'd regained strength quickly and insisted on getting out of the hospital, despite both Fred and Angela's opinions that he should lay low. He'd argued until he was red in the face; he couldn't stay cooped up inside any longer or he'd go insane. By the look on her face, Angela had decided he already had. After a rather loud argument between them, Angela decided to compromise—Daryl would be allowed out (he'd scoffed, as if he needed a woman's permission) but he had to avoid too much strain. So she put him on inventory duty in the food shed. It wasn't quite what he was looking for, but he was content to just be standing on his own two feet again.

Angela was just as stubborn as he was, choosing to keep fighting with him until she got her way. It was rather sexy, he admitted, to see her all fired up and yelling at him. Unlike everyone else who fought with him, she didn't insult him to get him to agree to her terms. Others called him stupid, like he didn't know what he was talking about, but the worst insult she fired at him was his stubbornness. She'd slammed her fist down on the counter and even stomped her foot like a child throwing a temper tantrum, and it'd taken all of his will not to smirk. It was amusing, getting under her skin, and Daryl felt a certain pull in his nether-regions that he hadn't felt in a long time. She was unlike any other woman he'd ever met in his life—strong-willed, independent, fiery. She only spoke when she had something important to say and she didn't waste time making petty observations. A woman of few words, a trait that Daryl favored.

The sound of pounding hooves drew Daryl's attention away from his task, and he turned with the guard to watch as three horses entered the fort. Angela was atop the middle horse, a large grey animal that pranced anxiously on the ground, waiting for another chance to run. Angela rode him bareback, as the compound's only two bridles and saddles were being used by her companions. She quickly dismounted and handed a man—what his name? Fred?—a box undoubtedly filled with supplies they'd picked up. She spent a moment talking to the people around, no doubt telling them about the trip, and she kept a steady hand on the grey horse's neck to keep him still. Her companions dismounted and handed off their bags as well before handing their reins to Angela. With the grey horse between them, she led the trio back to the makeshift stables. Daryl watched until she disappeared, and the guard behind him tapped him on the shoulder to get back to work.

The sun was high when Daryl finished sorting through the inventory, including the new supplies Angela and her friends had brought in. The clipboard was filled and new inventory had been taken of things they hadn't had before, and it hung now on a wall just next to the door on the inside. Daryl, with his guard still on him, crossed the threshold towards the stables. Every horse popped its head over its door when he walked in, and Daryl was impressed with just how much this building resembled a stable. He was tempted to ask the guard, but that would require conversation and Daryl was more than unwilling to speak. Instead, he wandered around and inspected the place himself, testing beams and floorboards with his weight. Angela's horse, the grey one, perked his ears up as Daryl stepped in front of him, a hand under his nose. Quick as a flash, the horse's ears went flat against its head and he swung his large head forward. Daryl stepped back out of the way of the horse's teeth, and it disappeared into its stall with a snort.

"He's not used to a lot of human contact," came a voice from Daryl's left. He turned and regarded Angela as she stepped out of a small room and closed the door behind her. She nodded at the guard who returned it and made his exit. "When I found him, he was all sorts of crazy. Fred wanted me to put him down."

"Why didn't you? Woulda saved you a lotta trouble," Daryl mused, narrowing his eyes at the darkened stall where the devil animal ate loudly. Angela smirked slightly and stepped over to the door. She clicked her tongue and the grey horse reappeared. It eyed Daryl as he stood and watched as Angela ran her hands over the horse's forehead, neck, and ears.

"Because he's totally harmless now; to me, at least. There's nothing better than having a horse that's willin' to protect you and die for you if the time calls for it." Daryl noted the dreamy note her voice took on as she gazed at the horse. "His name's Hercules."

Daryl snorted. The name seemed fitting enough—the horse was huge! "Why didn't ya name him Lucifer or some shit? He's a mean one just as he's big." Angela laughed and Daryl fought off a small smile at the sound. It was full and happy and it lifted his spirits—slightly, and not that he'd admit it—to know that there could still be laughter in a world like this.

"Once you get to know him he's a total sweetheart. He's more loyal and better than any dog I've ever owned." At the compliment, Hercules tossed his head. Angela smiled and Daryl mustered a small smirk. "You ever ride?"

Daryl shook his head. "Don't like horses. They're stubborn beasts and they can kill ya with just a swift kick to the head. No thanks."

"They can't be more stubborn than you are." Angela's eyes twinkled with mischief and Daryl felt his cheeks heating up. He cleared his throat and looked away, straightening his shoulders. Angela averted her gaze as well and opened the stall door. Daryl looked up in alarm.

"What're you doin'?" he asked as Angela led Hercules out of the stall. He backed up against the side wall to avoid the horse's massive haunches, the dangerous end.

"Come on, scaredy-cat. Grab that little box of brushes in the tack room." Giving the horse another heated stare, Daryl scooted by and ducked into the tack room. Angela was chuckling as he returned and handed the box to her, watching Hercules for any sign of the horse's discomfort. But he seemed content enough as he cocked one hind hoof and relaxed.

"This is the curry comb. It's the first brush to use when grooming a horse. You brush him like this to bring up all the dirt and grime and loose hair." To demonstrate, she pressed the small rubber brush to the horse's neck and began moving it in a circle, creating circular patterns on the horse's coat. "Brush in the same direction as the hair. Got it?"

"Think so. But why're you tellin' me this?" Daryl asked, lifting his hand to his mouth.

"Because you're gonna groom him." Daryl froze in his movements and his eyes slid uneasily to Hercules. The horse's ears were swiveling back and forth, listening to the sounds around him. Angela laughed at Daryl's obvious sign of distress and pushed the curry comb into his hands. She stepped back and held her arm out towards the spot she'd just vacated. Daryl seemed to shrink as he stepped up hesitantly beside the horse. Hercules regarded him with an ear and an eyeball in his direction.

"Well, go on. Longer you hesitate, the more frustrated he's gonna get."

Daryl brought the brush up to the horse's neck, and the animal seemed to visibly relax as Daryl mimicked Angela's movements. He reached Hercules's midsection and the horse lifted a front foot and brought it down on the dirt floor, causing Daryl to jump back. He cast Angela a look, who nodded at Hercules. Gritting his teeth he resumed his grooming, wondering just how the hell Angela could get him to do something so ridiculous such as groom a horse.

When both sides of Hercules had been curried, Angela showed him the next brush with stiff bristles that was used with a flicking motion to rid the coat of the loose hair and dirt. Following that one was the body brush with softer bristles that gave the coat a brilliant shine. Lastly, Angela showed Daryl how to pick a horse's hooves, but he'd promptly decided that he was going nowhere near a horse's primary weapon. Angela laughed at that as well, but she was in no way mocking his discomfort around a horse. Merely, she thought Daryl was funny. She let him get away without picking Hercules's hooves and took over that task herself; as she led Hercules back into his stall, Daryl watched as she coveted the animal for a few moments.

"Where'd you find him?" he asked curiously as she stepped out into the aisle. She closed and latched the stall door and leaned against it.

"We went out on a mission and came across his farm. He and the others were just sittin' there in the field, waiting to be rescued."

"How'd ya get 'em back?"

"Simple: we rode them. Luckily the family who owned them still had saddles left, so we took those and whatever supplies we could find. We kept them tethered to posts just outside the barn but I'd read somewhere that too much wetness was bad for a horse's feet, so me and the men built the barn. It took a while but the horses seem happy enough. One of the men used to be a contractor and had built a few barns before this one, so he knew what we needed."

Daryl nodded and looked around. "Seems sturdy enough."

Angela smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but the sound of approaching footfalls interrupted her. She turned towards one of the younger men of the camp, who warned her of a number of biters appearing out of the woods. Angela urged Daryl out in front of her as they followed the young man to a watch tower. Angela began climbing the ladder, but Daryl simply looked up and around in confusion.

"You comin' or not?" Angela called down to him when she noticed he wasn't behind her.

Atop the tower, Angela was shown the number of biters that had meandered into the clearing. There were about twenty in all, enough for her to be slightly worried about. Daryl came up beside her and looked out across the field, watching as the walkers drew closer at the sign of movement beyond the fence.

"Gimme my bow and I can take 'em out easy," Daryl reasoned, squinting at her. Angela pursed her lips in thought, weighing the options in her head. She didn't quite trust these strangers enough to hand their weapons back, and though they hadn't given her any reason to continue to mistrust them, that wasn't reason enough to convince her.

"No. You'll stay here. Ted, take him back to his cabin and round up Mick and Eric. They can help me with this." Daryl shrugged Ted's hand off his shoulder and stormed down the ladder as gracefully as one could in a fit.

Angela exchanged a glance with Ted before following Daryl down; he was halfway to his cabin by the time Ted's feet hit the ground, and the tower guard had to run to catch up to him. Daryl barked at Ted to back off.

"Don't need no damn babysitter," he growled. Ted, while intimidated, didn't back down until Daryl stormed into his cabin and slammed the door in his face. Daryl huffed and threw off his boots, haphazardly whipping them into a corner. He lay on his back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

He didn't know why, but it bothered him that Angela couldn't trust him enough to take out the walkers on his own. It would save her people the trouble and danger of venturing outside the gate. Why the hell was that woman so damn stubborn? Daryl blinked and backtracked. When the hell did he even _care_ about these people? They'd been there four days total if he counted right, and while none of the people in this fort had been particularly rude to him or the other Atlanta survivors, he owed nothing to any of them.

_Except your life, you asshole,_ a smaller, less significant portion of his mind chided. He grit his teeth as the thought passed through his head. He hated to admit it, but yes, without Angela and her group and their help, he probably would have slipped into a coma and died. If Merle were here, he'd give him a good whack over the back of the head for even thinking Angela had any part in helping him get better. _A Dixon don't need help from nobody, lil brother. An' if ya do, yer weak. Ya ain't a Dixon._

Merle's influence was beginning to grate on his nerves, but it wasn't as if he could start becoming his own person. From the time he was very little, Merle had practically raised him on his own. Their father was an alcoholic, and when he was too far down into his cups he became violent. Since Papa Dixon knew Merle could defend himself, his target became the younger Daryl, whom he tossed around the living room of their trailer like a ragdoll. Each morning Daryl would wake up with fresh bruises, the old ones still in the process of healing. Merle would come in every morning to make sure Daryl actually woke up; sometimes Daryl couldn't even open one of his eyes, it'd been beaten so badly. When their father was off on benders with women he met in bars, Merle spent time getting Daryl to be able to defend himself—God knew the time would come eventually. And it did the night Daryl laid a good one into his father's left eye, knocking him backwards onto their dirty, rickety couch. For a moment, Papa Dixon sat there, stunned and with a hand over his eye. Papa Dixon never laid a hand on him again after that, and it gave Daryl a new-found confidence. He stopped taking orders from everyone around him and he grew hard and cold, like his brother. He trusted no one, because Merle always said the only person a Dixon could trust was a Dixon.

Merle had turned his little brother into a spitting image of him, and so far, there wasn't a damn thing Daryl could do about it.

* * *

><p>Thoughts?<p>

xx ZM


	6. Chapter 6

_Please put the doctor on the phone because I'm not making any sense  
>Blame everyone but me for this mess<br>And my back has been breaking from this heavy heart  
>We never seemed so far<br>I'm hopelessly hopeful, that you're just hopeless enough  
>But we never had it at all<em>

- "I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea that Says You Should Shut Your Mouth" by Fall Out Boy

* * *

><p><strong>Angela<strong>

The Atlanta survivors seemed to fit in well with Angela's group; at meals they were eager to open up about their lives before the walkers, helped out around the compound. Carl got along well with the other children, having plenty of friends to choose from; Rick had done well by him, that was for sure. The only one who seemed to still be brooding was Daryl, who chose to bring his meal back to his cabin and eat alone. More than once Angela watched him brush by everyone, waving a hand dismissively and disappear indoors. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't at least a little concerned for him; it seemed he was the black sheep in the group. Not even his fellow survivors seemed too perturbed by Daryl's behavior. She'd have to ask.

And she did. She volunteered to help a mother with short-cropped gray hair with the dishes. Her name was Carol, and she was very, very quiet and resigned. She did her part without a fuss and without a word, and then she holed up in her cabin for the remainder of the evening. She smiled slightly when Angela walked over, swinging a dish rag.

"Hey. Carol right?" The woman nodded. "Mind if I lend a hand?" Carol shook her head. Together the two traded off between washing and drying and stacking. Silence spread between them and Angela bit her lip.

"So I have to ask…" She ignored it when Carol tensed beside her. "What's up with Daryl? Has he always been so…brash? And dismissive of others? He's the only one I barely ever see at meals."

Carol nodded and passed her a plate needing to be dried. "He lost his brother in Atlanta. Merle was all he had, and once he was gone, well…I don't think Daryl quite knows who he is without Merle's influence. Then when we lost…another of our own, something changed in him. For a while, it was like he was part of the group. Angry, but supportive of everyone. He was the reason any of us even ate. Then he just snapped, started distancing himself. I think he felt he owed it to himself to find her, to bring her back alive." Angela glanced over; Carol's eyes had started misting, but before she could even ask the older woman pressed a hand to her face and took off. Angela watched her in sadness and confusion, turned when Lori stepped up to take Carol's place.

"She lost her daughter not too long ago. She hasn't been the same since." Angela felt her heart go out to Carol. "For a while it was just Carol and Sophia. Carol's husband Ed was killed when our camp was attacked. Put the axe in his brain herself."

"Shit," murmured Angela. "I was just asking about Daryl, and all of a sudden her eyes got all watery."

Lori smiled. "Daryl's a tough nut to crack. He's done a lot for us, feeding us, protecting us, and we all still look at him as redneck trash. He's the only one who put in the effort to find that little girl, and when we found her—a walker—it damn near drove him over the edge. We knew what losing Merle did to him, but to see Sophia as a walker, well, I've never seen anyone look broken, so angry, at once."

Angela frowned deeply. "'s that why he pretty much keeps to himself?"

Lori nodded. "He tries to pretend he doesn't care about anyone else, but I think we all see through that. Especially Carol. He was her rock through Sophia's absence."

"And that injury? How'd he manage that one?"

"He said he lost his footing when he was hunting. Somehow he made his way back even when he was seeing two of everything. I can't thank you enough for giving us your hospitality, Angela. Everyone seems so happy here. It's a good thing you've done."

Shrugging, Angela smiled. "Yeah, well, I like to think anyone else here would have done the same. I'm gonna go check on inventory. Elena over there can show you where these go." Waving, Lori hefted a stack of plates toward Elena.

At the inventory shed, Fred stood with a clipboard, smiled when Angela walked in. "Just in time," he said."

"How we doing?"

Fred tapped the end of his pen on the clipboard. "Well, we're okay on canned goods, but we're running low on meat. Maybe you and the Neanderthal can go out and round us up some venison."

"His name's Daryl, Fred," Angela corrected, nudging the doctor playfully with her shoulder. Fred smiled wryly. "And that doesn't sound like such a bad idea. I'll run it by him." After chatting with Fred a few moments longer, Angela crossed the compound and pounded on Daryl's door. He opened it not two seconds later, shirtless and looking rather cranky.

"Whatchu want?" he growled.

"Word has it you're pretty good with that crossbow of yours. Can I interest you in a hunting trip?" she asked, forcing her eyes to stay on his face. He scowled.

"I hunt alone."

"Yeah, well, I'm not about to let you out there by yourself. Who the hell knows if you'd ever come back?" She'd crossed her arms and lifted an eyebrow. Daryl's gaze was hard ice. Sighing, Angela relaxed her stance. "Come on, you look like you're going stir-crazy in here."

Slowly Daryl's gaze softened and he sighed deeply through his nose. Turning, he threw on a sleeveless shirt, laced up his boots, and followed Angela towards the weapons shed. He looked around at the guns and quieter weapons lining the walls of the interior.

"You find all these?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. He averted his gaze when Angela bent over to lift his crossbow.

"Most of them," she replied, handing him the weapon. It felt good to have it back in his hands, where it belonged. He ran his hands over the body of the crossbow with a gentleness that almost made Angela call Carol and Lori crazy. He met her eyes and regained himself, cleared his throat. Smirking, Angela picked her own bow off a nail on the wall, slung a quiver of arrows over her shoulder.

Daryl nodded at the bow. "You any good with that thing?"

"You're just gonna have to wait and find out, cowboy." She led the way out of the shed, locked the door behind her and slid the key into her pocket. Daryl kept up beside her but paused when he saw her heading to the stables.

"They ain't gonna kill you, Daryl," Angela reminded without looking back. Grumbling lowly, Daryl followed her inside.

Hercules whickered softly as Angela reached out to pat his nose. He eyed Daryl warily but didn't make any aggressive moves, much to Daryl's comfort. Rather than lead him into the aisle and cause Daryl a heart palpitation, Angela carried the saddle and bridle into the stall.

"You can tack up Pepper over there. She's sound and relatively harmless. She hates women." As if she heard her, the piebald mare in question stuck her head out and flattened her ears in Angela's direction. "Witch."

Daryl fought off a grin and pulled the second saddle and bridle off the rack in the tack room. He hadn't tacked up a horse in his life, so he stared at the equipment helplessly. Angela glanced over at his progress, fought a laugh and replaced it with a sigh.

Daryl glared. "Shut up. Ain't done this before."

"I didn't say anything." She held up her hands in joking surrender. "Come on. It's easy. Let's see if she behaves herself for me. I might have to bribe her a bit." When Pepper made no move to bite or kick Angela, she easily tossed the saddle pad on her back, followed it with the saddle. Pepper's ears went back and her tail flicked in agitation when Angela bent to do up the girth, but again, she made no move to strike. Daryl kept his distance, watching in mild fascination as Angela tightened the girth, tugged it, and moved to replace Pepper's halter with the bridle. She handed him the reins, smiled, and went back to Hercules stall.

The pair led their mounts out of the stables, and Angela had to instruct Daryl on how to properly mount a horse. He was a bit unsure at first, feeling unsafe with one foot in the stirrup and one on the ground, but Pepper was patient and let him take his time. Finally he swung his leg over the other side, sunk deep in his seat.

"All right. Pepper used to be a trail horse, so she's used to following the horse in front of her, which means, you get to sit back and enjoy the ride." Daryl's stomach was a mess of nerves, but the wide grin Angela sent his way helped to calm the storm. He was momentarily shell-shocked, but jolted back to reality when Pepper moved forward. Curling his fingers around the reins, he let Pepper do her thing as Hercules led the way to the gate.

"Hey Tom. Goin' out for a hunting trip. We'll be back before dinner." Tom tipped his hat to the pair and waved an arm. The gate was pulled open and closed as soon as the horses were clear.

Tossing a sly grin over her shoulder, Angela pushed Hercules into a canter, and Pepper was quick to follow. Daryl let out a yelp of surprise as his mare kept pace with the big gelding. They entered the shadiness of the woods and when the trees became thicker, Angela slowed to a brisk walk. Hercules tossed his massive head, snorted, happy to be out of his stall. The air was close in the woods, humid and hanging like a big, thick cloud. Angela pulled her hat off her head, fanned herself with it to cool off.

"Horses kinda ruin the huntin' plan, don't they?" Daryl grumbled, slouching and swaying with Pepper's movements. The mare's withers twitched and her tail flicked, batting away at the flies buzzing around.

"Not really. There's a clearing further up where we can tether them, and then we can go off without them. It's not going to be much fun dragging a buck back between us on foot."

"That confident you'll find one, huh?" Angela just grinned over her shoulder. The horses entered the clearing and, making sure the coast was clear, the riders quickly dismounted and tethered the horses to an aspen tree. Grabbing her bowie knife and bow, she swung her arm, allowing Daryl to lead the way.

He was as quiet as a cougar in the woods, watching his footing and examining the ground for tracks. Even Angela could see that he was totally in his element out here. There was a sense of peacefulness, watching him move, stop, stoop to survey the dirt. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, but he made no movement to wipe it away. She followed just a few steps behind him, letting him set the pace. Suddenly he stopped, held up a hand. She froze. He extended a finger, held it to his lips for her to keep quiet. Nodding, she stepped up beside him to peer through the bushes. There, grazing on the roots of a shrub, was a buck. Good sized, with a full rack of antlers. The animal's head lifted once, its ears and eyes forward and alert. Then it put its head back down, and Angela loaded her bow. She glanced at Daryl, who was watching her intently and gave the slightest of nods. She let her arrow fly and the tip found its home in the buck's shoulder. It skittered away, limping and leaving a blood trail.

"Nice shot, but now we gotta go track it."

"Isn't that the fun part?" she quipped, turned her head, paused to notice just how close their faces were. Their breath mingled in the hot air. She could make out every detail of his face, the sweat tracks down his forehead and cheeks, the facial hair that hadn't seen a shave in God knew how long, the small mole at the corner of his mouth. His scent filled her nose, sweat and leather and horse. It suited him, filled her head and made her drunk. Her brain shook itself and her feet moved before he could say anything, not that she expected him to. She kept her eyes on the blood trail the buck left, listened for the sound of rustling bushes. She heard Daryl behind her, double-checking her progress.

The unmistakable groan of a biter put them both on alert and Angela reached back to load her bow. Daryl shouldered past her, lifted the crossbow.

"Got it," he murmured, and let the bolt fly to sink between the biter's eyes. It dropped with an unceremonious _thud_ in the dirt. He retrieved his arrow, using the biter's head as leverage for his foot. Angela grimaced as he wiped the blood and brain matter off on the moss. He cast her a quick glance before dropping his eyes to the trail. He silently pointed into the brush, and not a few yards ahead, they relocated the buck.

It was curled up beneath a bush, its injured leg stretched out in front of it. Poor animal didn't have a chance as Daryl released another bolt into its chest, rendering it immobile, and Angela stepped forward, unsheathed her knife, and quickly and effortlessly slit its throat. Daryl watched with mild fascination as she pulled her and Daryl's arrows from its body.

"Dress it here or back at the compound?" he asked. Angela held the dead animal by its antlers, assessed the size of the body and the effort it would take to drag it back to the horses.

"Should probably dress at the compound. If we dress it here, in this hot sun, it'll go bad before we can even blink. Help me, would you?" The previous, awkward event nearly forgotten, the two each grabbed hold of an antler and dragged the body to the waiting horses. Daryl helped Angela strap the buck to Hercules, who shifted under the added wait. As he strode to his mare, as an afterthought, he lifted the crossbow and fired at a squirrel unfortunate enough to be leaping from one branch to another. Angela was already mounted and watching him. He pulled the bolt out and held the squirrel up by its tail.

"Make a good snack or some'in," he murmured. The squirrel hanging from his belt, he climbed into the saddle with much more ease and confidence than earlier in the day.

"We'll come back tomorrow," Angela announced as they made their way back. "We've got enough meat on ice to feed everyone tonight, but this buck'll only feed about a third. Gonna need a second buck, or a boar or something to keep everyone fat and happy."

They were greeted at the gate with the sounds of awe and excitement from children and adults alike. They dismounted, unloaded the buck and handed it off. Angela took the horses to the barn to brush them down and get them fed. Daryl, meanwhile, with a lingering glance at her retreating back, followed the buck to be properly dressed.

* * *

><p>Thoughts?<p>

xx ZM


	7. Chapter 7

**Daryl**

He laid a quick, hard punch into the pillow in his cabin and then dragged his hands through his sandy-blonde hair, giving it a hard tug. After he helped to dress the buck and pack it away in the ice bin, he stormed across the compound to his cabin, wishing he'd had a bottle or seven of Southern Comfort. The hell was he thinking? Getting so close to her? God, her smell continued to assault his brain, as it had since they'd come face-to-face in the woods. Horse, sweat, and _woman_. It was intoxicating, more so than the strongest homemade moonshine.

"Son of a _bitch_!" he roared, kicking the bedpost. It rattled under the impact. He paced the small cabin space, his hands alternating between pulling on his hair and punching the mattress. "Stupid fucking bitch." He remembered he'd said something similar to Carol when she all but told him to call off the search for Sophia. He hadn't reacted well then, and he wouldn't now. He glanced out the window, saw parents ushering their kids away from his cabin. It only made him grit his teeth, hold back angry tears that he refused to shed.

He hadn't been so angry he cried in a very long time. He couldn't even remember the last time he cried; he didn't when his mother died, even if he'd been young. Merle might have forced a tear out of him, maybe his father, but he couldn't remember. He swiped at his eyes, refusing to give even in the privacy of his own cabin. He knew he wouldn't get any sleep tonight, so he stormed out of the cabin and headed for the watch tower. At least he could put his anger into something productive like taking out walkers. When he reached the top of the tower, the man on guard nodded in regard, chased it with a yawn.

"Go get some sleep," Daryl said gruffly, making sure the man knew it wasn't a request. Heeding his warning, the man passed Daryl the binoculars, CB radio, and sniper rifle complete with suppressor. Once he was alone, Daryl flopped into the folding chair, put the binoculars up to his eyes. There was no activity in the grass beyond the base, which was perfectly _not_ all right with him. He needed to burn off his anger, and if there weren't any walkers to shoot, how the hell would he calm down? He bounced his leg in silent irritation, keeping the binoculars pressed to his eyes. How the hell was he supposed to deal with this? And what the hell was it about Angela that had his skin crawling in an addictive, tantalizing way? Well, whatever it was, he'd make sure it would never happen again. A woman like Angela…

He shook his head, let the binoculars hang from his neck. Nope, no sleep at all tonight.

He regretted it in the morning. His eyelids felt like they were weighted down with five pounds of lead each, and his back was so sore he felt like he'd taken a kick to the spine with a steel-toe; it sent a hot surge of pain through him as he stood from the folding chair on the watchtower. He squinted out across the field in the blinding sunlight; a lone walker wandered the field, probably having caught sight of a squirrel that dodged its decayed fingers and scurried up a tree. Lifting the sniper rifle, Daryl quickly took it out with a bullet between the eyes just as an older man climbed the tower.

"Nice shot. Shit, man, d'you get any sleep at all?" Daryl didn't answer. "Well, anyways, I'm your relief. Go 'head and get some rest, son. Ya look like ya need it." Shoving the rifle, binoculars, and radio into the man's hands, Daryl made quick work of descending the ladder. The early-risers parted as he stormed through them like a bullet through a cloud of flies. The murmurs followed him as he stalked to his cabin, ignoring the waves of people from his group. Once they saw the expression on Daryl's face, they dropped their hands, kept their distances.

He entered his cabin and lay on his back on the mattress but the stiffness in his back counteracted the tiredness in his eyes. He closed them, but not with the intention of falling asleep. However, he felt himself begin to drift off, just as the door to his cabin flew open. Shooting upright and reaching for the knife he kept at his bedside, Daryl growled as Angela's slim figure took up the space in the doorway, set the knife back down.

"Rise 'n shine, Dixon. Gotta get a head start if we're gonna— hey, you're not lookin' too well."

"Didn't sleep much," Daryl muttered, digging the heel of his hand into his eye. He noticed the pack sitting outside the door. "Where we goin'?"

"Hunting trip. Figured we'd take a few days to get a good haul. Rick's gonna help Michael with keeping everyone in line and pulling their weight. So it's just you and me."

"Fuckin' peachy." Angela ignored the comment as she stooped to throw Daryl a clean shirt.

"You stink. Really bad."

"Ya always so shy?" he wondered wryly aloud. Grinning Angela merely pulled the door closed behind her and Daryl let himself flop back on the bed. _Fuckin' hell_. But he found himself replacing his shirt and gathering his crossbow and knife regardless. Laying the strap over his head, he left the cabin, where Angela was speaking with Michael about the tasks that needed performing. He watched the discussion silently, taking note of the physical resemblances between the two. Their dark hair and green eyes, the ski-slope nose dusted with freckles. Michael towered over his sister, though, and she had to lean up on her tiptoes to hug him around the neck.

"Ready cowboy?" she asked, jolting him back to earth. _No_, he thought. _Far from ready to sit a fuckin' horse after a night of no sleep and wonderin' why the hell you've got me so fuckin' flustered._

He kept his eyes to the ground as she led the way to the stables. Hercules snorted, eyed Daryl, and the redneck sneered at the horse as he passed him. Pepper greeted him friendlily, snorting in his face and nudging her nose against his shoulder. The horses were tacked quickly and were out the gate just an hour past dawn. The ride was silent except for the small thuds of the horses' hooves in the grass, the occasional snort. Despite the throb in his back from sitting upright, Daryl felt himself being lulled to sleep by the gentle sway of the horse beneath him. His eyelids drifted closed and his head dropped forward.

"Hey sleepyhead, wrong time for a catnap," Angela said, but it seemed her voice didn't quite reach Daryl. A small snore left his throat and Angela couldn't stop the smile that curved her mouth. With a one-shoulder shrug, she decided to let him sleep a bit.

Only an hour and a half later, in a clearing Angela estimated to be just over a mile southwest of the fort, did she rein up and dismount. Shaking Daryl's knee, she laughed when he gave a loud snort and woke himself up. He looked around wildly, almost spun himself out of the saddle. When he cast an icy glare down at her, Angela zipped her mouth, but still shook with laughter.

"Have a good sleep?" she asked, the laugh still in her voice.

"How long I been out?" he asked, sleepily climbing off Pepper's back. Angela squinted up into the sun.

"About an hour and a half is my guess. Come help me make camp. Then you can go back to sleep if you'd like." Daryl shook his mop of sandy-blonde hair.

"Nah, I'm up. Let's get this tent up. I wanna do a bit o' huntin' 'fore the sun goes all the way down." Nodding, Angela pulled the tent from Hercules's back. In a matter of minutes, the tent was pitched and a small fire pit had been erected. Grabbing their weapons, they headed off west of the campsite.

Angela hung back as Daryl picked his way through the brush. Every few steps he knelt and pressed a hand to the ground, staring at something that seemed invisible to her. They didn't speak, and he never turned to see if she was still behind him. He was in control out here, in his element, where he belonged. He only acknowledged her presence when he held up a hand for her to stop. Glancing at her, he pointed ahead where, through the endless green, Angela could make out a rather large rabbit beneath a thorn bush. Daryl held a finger to his lips and pulled a bolt from its holster. Once it was loaded, he took a silent step forward. Angela watched in fascination as he wordlessly squeezed the trigger on his crossbow. The bolt cut through the silence and sunk itself into the rabbit's meaty shoulder. The poor thing hadn't even stood a chance. Angela grinned when Daryl made a small noise of success in the back of his throat and moved forward to retrieve his bolt and his kill. He hung the rabbit from a string at his belt and wiped the bolt off on his pants.

"My turn," Angela said as she veered off to the left. "You're wrong if you think I'm gonna let you have all the fun." Behind her back, the corners of Daryl's mouth lifted in the slightest hint of amusement.

She wasn't a bad shot. In the hour they spent out hunting, she managed to snag another rabbit, a squirrel, and a woodchuck. He, though, outnumbered her with about six squirrels, and he found it amusing that she was still pouting over it even after they returned to campsite. Their day went relatively walker-free, except for a lone one that Daryl decided wasn't worth wasting a bolt over. They had gotten a small fire going, enough to cook and keep warm by, and Daryl was showing her how to properly prepare a kill for cooking. She watched with a grimace on her face as he effortlessly cut the hind legs off. The sound of squelching bone and flesh was enough to make her turn her head away and gag into the ground.

Daryl paused in his movements, his eyebrows in his hairline. "You can't tell me you ain't seen a rabbit gutted before."

"Preparing meat for cooking was never one of my daily duties. Usually that was my brother or Alex. I think I'm going to go have a quick look around while you do this." Daryl opened his mouth to protest, but Angela held up a hand. "I'll be in sight."

He watched her with slight uncertainty in his eyes as she picked up her knife, a flashlight, and the baseball bat. She gave him a smile over her shoulder and began her rounds along the edge of the clearing. Every few seconds Daryl looked up from the carcass to find her, make sure she was still in sight. She held the bat against her shoulder, the knife in the waistband of her jeans. The beam of the flashlight bounced off the trees, casting shadows that made him tense. A rustle in the bushes made his fingers twitch towards his crossbow, and the flutter of bat wings above him brought his nerves to near insanity. Something didn't feel right when she was out of his reach, and he called her name once into the darkness.

She didn't reply and immediately he was put on high alert. Abandoning the carcass he scooped up his crossbow and barreled into the woods where he'd last seen her. He called her name again, spun around when another rustle sounded behind him. He loaded his crossbow deftly and aimed it in front of him.

"Dammit. Angela!" he called a third time. A twig snapped under his boot and he froze; another snapped to his right. With three quick breaths he spun and aimed the crossbow. Angela yelped.

"Jesus, Daryl. It's me!" Both released heavy sighs and Daryl lowered his weapon.

"The hell did you go? I called you three times!" he said, his anger bubbling over. "Tha's it. No more night watches alone. We go together or not at all, got it?"

Daryl was half-worried that Angela would bristle at his mini-montage, but instead she just cracked a grin that stretched from ear-to-ear.

"You were worried about me," she taunted, crossing her arms with a smirk. Daryl's eyes flashed.

"I was not. I just don't wanna get any shit if I go back without ya. Tha's all."

"Admit it, cowboy. You were worried." Daryl stayed silent as they trekked back to camp and Angela continued to tease him. She even put it to a tune. "You were worried. You were worried."

"Shut up," he grumbled.

"Face it, Dixon. You're not the big, bad, heartless redneck you want everyone to think you are." She stopped in her tracks when Daryl whirled around and pointed a finger in her face.

"Listen up, girly. You don't know shit about me. I said I wasn't worried, so I wasn't worried. Got it?" Angela softened at the angry flare in his eyes and nodded.

"All right. I was just teasing. I'm sorry." She stepped around him and planted herself by the fire. Daryl hadn't a moment to process how easy it had been to deflect her; he at least been expecting a biting remark. Instead she let it go.

He stomped back to the fire and picked up the rabbit carcass, shoved it on a spit and held it over the fire. He risked a glance at Angela; she was staring into the fire, the flames casting shadows across the planes of her face. She wore a peaceful expression, as if he hadn't just snapped at her a moment ago. She met his eyes and smiled, looking up into the sky at the stars that dotted a sea of dark blue. Daryl found himself staring a few moments longer than he intended. When she looked back at the fire her eyes widened.

"Daryl!" Snapping out of his reverie he yelped as he yanked the flaming rabbit meat from the fire.

"Dammit! Fuckin' piece of shit!" he growled, dumping the remainder of his water on the flames. The meat was completely charred; Angela had a hand over her mouth and when they met eyes, her demeanor broke and she burst out laughing. Daryl watched her as if she had three heads, his eyebrows furrowed and a confused frown lining his forehead.

"I'm sorry. That's not funny," she said, holding back laughter. But Daryl cracked a grin and sent her into another fit. When her laughter subsided, Daryl turned the spit, inspecting the meat.

"Prob'ly still edible," he said. With his knife he cut off a chunk of shoulder meat and held it out to Angela. She reached for a paper plate and let him plop the meat down. He watched her as she picked up the hot meal with her fingertips, muttering a chorus of 'ow' until she took a bite. The charred skin was crispy but it tasted good all the same. She shot him a grin and they dined in silence.

* * *

><p>Thoughts?<p>

xx ZM


	8. Chapter 8

_I know what you're thinking,  
>I've been there before<em>

_So think of the times,  
>The time we spent laughing away<br>So think of the times,  
>At home<br>(Life without a care)_

_Now I find myself in my own blood  
>(Never thought I'd lie in my own blood)<br>The damage done is far beyond repair  
>I never put my faith in up above<br>(Never had much faith in up above)  
>But now, I'm hoping someone's there<em>

- "Danger Line" by Avenged Sevenfold

* * *

><p><strong>Angela<strong>

The next morning, Angela was stiff as a board from sitting upright through the night. She took a few moments to stretch and loosen her muscles, sighed in content as her bones cracked. While Daryl snoozed, she answered nature's call and started to gather their weapons for another hunting trip. Today they would ride to explore a little bit further and hopefully catch some bigger game. In her knapsack she packed a few chunks of last night's meal, two bottles of water, and a flashlight. While Daryl snoozed, she fed and watered the horses and saddled them. She stuck her bat into one of the saddle bags, her quiver of arrows right beside it, and slung her bow over her shoulder. As she turned towards the tent to wake Daryl up, she started, noticing he was already awake.

"Hey, I was just about to come wake you," she said. He yawned in reply. "Horses are ready to go. Just waiting on you." She fought back a smile as Daryl cast an apprehensive glare at Pepper; the horse seemed to sense his look and tossed her head in irritation as a reply.

"You know," Angela said as they mounted up, "for someone who hates horses, you seem to be communicating very well with Pepper."

"Think it's more like a mutual dislike," he grumbled, stifling another yawn.

"Didn't sleep well?"

"Would you if you had a root in yer back?" He jumped as Pepper started walking, following Hercules. Angela didn't say anything as she steered Hercules around a tree.

By the coolness of the morning, she wagered the time was around nine, which gave them the entire day to gather a mass amount of food for the compound. Angela was calmed by the quietness of the woods, the gentle sway as Hercules plodded along. Having kept watch all night, her eyelids felt weighed down by lead. They drooped closed for a moment but opened again when Hercules gave a small buck. He tossed his head, happy to be out and moving, and Angela leaned forward to give his thick grey neck a pat.

She reined him up beside a stream and Daryl dismounted to kneel in the mud, searching hard for any sign of deer tracks, and Angela felt her face fall when he gave a small shake of his head. They continued downstream at a slow walk, basking in the Georgia heat. As they rounded a grove of bushes, Angela pulled hard on her reins as the walkers ahead of her snarled and snapped their jaws. Arms outstretched, they ambled towards the frightened horses. Two of them had once been women, perhaps lawyers or teachers by the tattered suits they wore, and the other was a mechanic with half of his face peeled away, revealed the dead flesh and bone underneath. Wordlessly Angela pulled her bat from the saddle bag and urged Hercules forward. With all her might she swung the bat, knocking the mechanic off-kilter, giving Daryl enough time to load his crossbow and drop the lawyer-walker. The teacher turned her dead gaze on Angela and Hercules, reaching forward with rotten fingers to grab at the saddle bag. Angela wheeled Hercules around, running the walker down with his hind end, but she had a death-grip on the leather of her bag, and those snapping jaws were getting too close for comfort. Angela swung her bat, but the angle was off, and she missed by a mile.

Now fear had set in as she repeated the move over and over, trotting Hercules in a circle to loosen the walker's grip.

"Daryl!" she cried, casting a fearful look in the redneck's direction. He was aiming carefully at the three as they spun in circles.

"Keep him steady!" he yelled, following the walker's movements with the crossbow. He had one eye closed to keep his aim steady.

"Are you crazy?!"

"I'll hit the horse, or you!"

Groaning, Angela halted Hercules, keeping him as steady as a spooked horse could be. She held her breath, closed her eyes, as the walker's hand grabbed at her knee. And suddenly it stopped moving, stopped snarling, and only when she heard a _thud_ did she open her eyes. The walker was crumpled in a heap on the forest floor, a single arrow through its left eye socket. Meeting Daryl's eyes, she expelled the breath she'd been holding.

"About damn time," she sighed, leaning forward onto Hercules's neck.

"Y'all right?" Daryl asked, pulling Pepper up beside the bigger horse. Angela let out a few long breaths, sitting up when Hercules gave his head a mighty shake.

"Next time be a little quicker, else I might be walker-bait," she said laughingly. Sniffing, she turned Hercules back towards the woods. "Let's go. We're losing daylight."

**Daryl**

His ass was sore, his neck was sore, his back was sore, everything was sore. Sitting a horse for hours on end was not his idea of a good hunting trip. They stopped for a while at a stream to rest, and to give Angela a few moments to settle down after the ordeal with the walkers. She'd been quiet and pale, and Daryl noticed the slight shake in her hands as she reached up to wipe sweat from her forehead. So at his insistence, they stopped the horses by the stream and dined on the leftover charred rabbit meat. They ate in silence, and Daryl didn't miss the way her eyes flickered back and forth, watching for danger.

"Nothin's gonna happen," he assured her, almost startled by the tenderness in his own voice. "Horses will warn us if anythin's comin'."

Angela exhaled heavily, watching her shaking fingers. "I've never freaked out like that before. Then again, a walker's never come that close to killing me. It's been a while since one's been that close." A haunted look passed over her eyes and Daryl didn't push the issue further.

"Ya'll right now? Barely touched your food." Angela glanced down at the rabbit meat, set it on her lap.

"Just not that hungry, that's all." Rather than force her to eat like he probably should have, Daryl simply nodded and finished off his own chunk. He took hers and rewrapped it, shoved it back into the saddle bag.

They mounted up and headed deeper into the woods, both of them determined to find a deer or two to bring back with them. The forest was silent except for the sound of creaking leather and the occasional snort from one of the horses. As for walkers, they came across two more, both of which Daryl was eager to take care of, though he didn't miss the expression of fear on Angela's face when they'd spotted the walkers ambling without purpose. One of them was as thin as a twig, its bones clearly visible against the grey skin, and with its bright yellow eyes, Daryl even considered it to be rather creepy. He took it out with a good swing of the end of his crossbow. He felt a bigger drive now to keep Angela safe, knowing he'd get hell at the compound for not keeping her safe; not to mention his conscience would eat away at him until he was driven insane and took a bullet to the brain.

He watched her keenly as they rode, how she sat stiffly in the saddle, how her head swiveled in every direction like an owl's every time she heard a noise. Her knuckles were white as they tightly gripped her baseball bat; she held the weapon out over the ground, prepared to swing if a threat made itself known. He exhaled.

"So what did you do before the world came to an end?" he asked, trying to lift some of the tension and fear from her shoulders. He didn't miss the slight jerk her shoulders gave when he spoke.

"I was getting my degree in Zoology, and I had an internship at the Jacksonville Zoo."

"What made you choose animals?"

She shrugged. "I've always been an animal lover. Snakes, rabbits, cats, dogs, I had them all as a child. My parents actually started charging a quarter every time one of my friends came over to see my pets. Then one of my snakes ate one of my rabbits and I had to get rid of them. I still kept the dogs and cats, though. A Chihuahua—" Daryl snorted "—and a Great Dane. Could not be more different." Daryl's mouth twitched at the laughing tone in her voice, relieved to see her relax. He listened intently as she rambled on about her dogs, eventually creeping up on the topics of school, old boyfriends, crazy nights with her friends, things that once existed in the world.

Daryl found himself increasingly interested in who she was prior to the end of the world; he found himself smiling and snorting at the amusing parts of her stories, and frowning when her voice took on a tone of sadness and remorse. Her voice was relaxing, and more than once he found himself soothed by the gentle lilt of it. At one point, his eyelids grew heavy and if a bird hadn't taken wing above him he'd have been out like a light.

The sun was just beginning its descent when the two horses broke through the bush and entered the campsite. A buck was slung over the hind end of each horse, a result of a lucky shot by Angela and Daryl's impressive tracking skills. Daryl strung the carcasses from a tree, about seven feet off the ground. When Angela sent him a questioning glance, he shrugged and gave a simple one-word answer.

"Bears."

* * *

><p>Thoughts?<p>

xx ZM


End file.
